


Solace

by HamburrgerBites



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 20+ chapters, A bit of poetry, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But short chapters, Coping, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, My Most Important Fic, Roommates, Slow Burn, Sparse language, TJeff and JMad are antagonists lol, also tears, happy ending I promise, long fic, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 19,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamburrgerBites/pseuds/HamburrgerBites
Summary: In which Hamilton and Burr are university roommates, and Hamilton hates his life.“I feel like such a burden. And I don’t want to be a burden. I’m pathetic, I know, but I’d rather die—”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oof. I seem to write a lot of “If Only” stories. If only I were as non-stop as Hamilton. If only I had a Burr to look after me. These stories get too damn real sometimes. Nevertheless, enjoy!

It was the second month of the new semester, and not once did Burr see his roommate go to class.

Hamilton was on his stomach on his bed, snoring lightly.

Burr glanced at his watch, then back at the boy. It was almost five in the afternoon. He’d been sleeping when Burr left for Criminal Law in the morning, and he couldn’t believe that he was still sleeping now.

Burr twiddled with his pen as he bent back down to his textbook.

He’d heard the rumours. A few people he’d never met even came up to him to give him a warning, or to pat his shoulder in sympathy. He knew his roommate was a “case”—for lack of a politer term—but he had to admit that this wasn’t what he’d expected.

He thought Hamilton would be, well, an addict, of some kind. Cigarettes, drugs, sex—maybe all three at once. He thought Hamilton would be a nuisance and would make a scene in the room every day—yelling, throwing furniture, heck, maybe even giving Burr a few punches and broken bones once in a while just for fun.

Instead, Burr had walked into the room on the first days of his university life and all he saw was a quiet boy who slumped when he wasn’t lying down, and on his phone when he wasn’t sleeping.

Burr couldn’t figure out why other people hated him so much.

He blinked at his textbook. He’d been trying to read the same page for the past fifteen minutes. He looked back at the boy on the bed. Hamilton hadn’t bothered to tuck the sheets of his mattress properly, and with his blanket carelessly halfway to the floor, Burr could see him clutching his stomach.

Burr hadn’t seen him eating for days.

He tapped his pen against his book in agitation. Sighing, he closed it, knowing it was useless to force himself to stay still and do nothing for any longer.

He grabbed his wallet and phone. Taking a final glance back at the quiet, frail boy on the bed, Burr shook his head at himself and left the room.

He came back an hour later with dinner.

* * *

“Hamilton, wake up.”

The boy didn’t stir, so Burr bent down and shook his shoulder—gently, at first—then more insistent as he grew impatient.

Hamilton groaned and blinked his bleary eyes open sluggishly.

Burr shook the boy again to make sure (and also because he was kind of angry).

“I’m awake,” Hamilton growled, which surprised Burr. It was a powerful voice for someone who was such a mess. “What?”

Burr shoved the plastic bag in his hand at his face, remembering his ire. “Dinner.”

“What?”

Burr suddenly felt very tired. He hated himself. He sat down, right then and there on the floor against the side of Hamilton’s bed, and started unwrapping the containers. He placed Hamilton’s chicken stir-fry on the bed—he needed the protein and roughage—and got out his own order of dumpling noodles.

Hamilton had pulled himself up to a sitting position, wobbly from starvation or fatigue, Burr couldn’t be certain. “I didn’t ask you to,” he mumbled.

“Shut up and eat.” Burr dug into his food with furious vigour, pondering the possibility of a weak, vulnerable roommate being worse than a thuggish junkie.

It was worse for him anyway.

Hamilton took his food and ate quietly.

“Here,” Burr said, and reached up to give him a dumpling.

 _Fuck_ , he hated himself. He had three younger siblings and a school bus full of younger cousins. He grew up with classmates who starved themselves and skipped school and cried over their abusive parents and at least two of them who tried taking their own lives.

Even worse, he himself had gone through that phase before. He knew what it was like to shut the world out, knocking himself dead with sleep— _if he wasn’t awake, he wasn’t alive—_ and drowning himself in the virtual world of RPGs where he could release his pent-up angst without anyone getting hurt but himself. Vomiting bile, crying blood. During that period of his life, Burr had written almost a hundred torn and insane poems, pouring out his inner demons as he drove himself deeper into his hell, clawing for salvation in damnation.

So he _knew_ what Hamilton was going through.

And he hated that he was kind enough to help him through it like nobody had helped him.

“Thanks,” Hamilton mumbled, putting down his empty container.

Burr nodded and stood up. He took their empty containers and plastic utensils and left the room to throw them away in the recycling bin and wash his hands, wash his face, wash his hurt away.

When he came back into the room, Hamilton had gone back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got too damn real. :)))  
> I will not try to hide the fact that I am both Hamilton and Burr at the same time and I am sorry for those who feel the same because shitballs, man. We deserve so much love. I love you and we can get through it, too. Please don’t give up.  
> I’ve got most of this story (20+ chapters) written, and I am so excited to share it with you guys because I consider this the most important story I'll ever write on here. I'll post at least two new chapters weekly.  
> Also, thanks for reading. Comments will be greatly appreciated. <3 (The next one is in Ham’s POV!)


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Hamilton woke and felt— _okay_.

He still felt like shit, but _less_ like shit and more like—something that was _less shitty_ or whatever.

He buried his face on his pillow and groaned. And people called him a _genius_ —pfft.

Though they do spat the word out like an insult, so maybe he _was_ a “genius” after all.

His roommate had left for class. Fuck, what was his name again? Great. Now he felt back to being fully shitty. A straight-A complete waste of space and a self-centred jerk who didn’t even bother to remember the name of the guy who fed him good food.

_Alexander fucking Hamilton_ , everyone.

He clicked his phone. Only twelve o’clock. Sunlight was streaming dimly from the drawn curtains. Hamilton took a moment to appreciate that. His roommate meticulously opened them at night to let in cool air and drew them closed again in the morning to keep the room dark for Hamilton when he left, leaving the lights off, too.

Hamilton wanted to know his name.

But he was tired. What day was it? Shit, did he miss his Civil Procedure test? No, he had that class with Madison and Jefferson. No way in hell would they let go of the opportunity to mock him with it if he did. _Finally fallen from your 4.0 throne, genius?_

Hamilton wished they would leave him alone. He wished _everyone_ would leave him alone. His stepparents, his fake “friends”, his professors, his exes.

_He just wanted to be left alone_ , why won’t people understand that?

The door sounded with a little click. His roommate entered, a bag in his hand.

“You’re awake,” the guy noted, and for some reason he was breathing hard.

Hamilton gave a shrug and went back to his phone, really not up to talking at the moment—at a lot of moments.

But his roommate unloaded the bag and brought out something that made him look up, sniffing the air, his stomach suddenly rumbling.

“Lunch,” the guy said, and he held two round packages.

_Hamburgers_ , fuck _yes_.

“I didn’t know what you preferred so I got the fish and the beef. Which one do you want?”

_Both_ , oh my flying _fuck_.

But Hamilton restrained himself, biting his tongue. “You didn’t have to—”

“Time’s up,” his roommate declared, planting himself on the floor against his bed like last night. “I’m taking the fish.”

_I wanted the fish_ , Hamilton whined internally. But he hadn’t had beef in a long time—heck, all he’d been having were potato chips and chocolate bars. Heaven knows he needed the extra nutrients, fish or beef alike.

He unwrapped his burger and took a bite, relishing the taste. Lately, he didn’t have that big of an appetite. But _burgers_ , man. He would agree to marry a good burger chef any day—then he’d have an unlimited supply of them.

His roommate must be ravenous, too. The guy chomped down his burger so fast Hamilton was still halfway through his when he finished. Then the guy took out two plastic cups from the bag, and Hamilton felt like crying.

_Fresh orange juice._

Was he dead? Because this was a paradisiacal meal.

His roommate rose, sipping his cup, and glanced at his watch. “Got to go,” he said, already reaching the door. “I’ll get dinner.”

He closed the door and Hamilton heard the lock click.

Hamilton finished his burger in silent thought. His mind was racing—that wasn’t anything new—but for once it wasn’t on how much he hated his life.

He sipped his orange juice—it was _delicious_ —and got out of bed in what felt like years, his legs prickling from prolonged inactivity.

His roommate had his schedule tacked up on the board over his desk. Hamilton checked his phone. Thursday. He checked the schedule.

_Fuck_.

His Thursday was _packed_.

Hamilton fell back onto his roommate’s chair, feeling shitty times _a million_. The guy had used his only free lunch period to get him lunch, come back to the dorm to hand it over, and then go back to the faculty buildings for his remaining classes. _And_ _he was a Law student, too_. Hamilton knew how far the buildings were. No wonder the guy had been breathing hard when he came into the room. He’d been _rushing_.

“Why?” Hamilton cried out loud. Why was the guy— _Aaron Burr_ , according to the textbooks on his desk—doing this? Hamilton had been less than friendly towards him since day one. Burr didn’t have anything on him—nothing to gain, nothing to boast about.

_I’m Alexander Hamilton’s roommate_ —hah! If anything, it must have made the guy’s very first semester on campus tougher. Hamilton’s name wasn’t a name whispered about in praise, and his associates either hated him for his perfect grades, were jealous of his infamy, or were embarrassed to be saddled as his “friends”.

His last roommate? Moved out and got an apartment outside of campus as far away from him as possible on the first _week_.

Hamilton drummed his fingers on Burr’s desk, confused, guilty, hurt and afraid to get his hopes up.

Was Aaron Burr—perhaps, maybe, possibly—different than the rest of them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS HE IS, HAMBUN.  
> I have so many emotions for these two it’s insane.  
> Also, I hope the fish burger wasn’t too out of place? It’s hard to write food that would be known internationally. (Speaking as someone who doesn’t live in the Americas or Europe.)  
> Thanks for reading! (Next chapter’s back to Burr’s POV!)


	3. Chapter 3

When Burr came back to the room with their dinner, exhausted and moody, the light was on and Hamilton was sitting up, leaning back against his headboard.

“Hey,” Burr said as the boy pulled out his earphones. He dropped the food onto his bed and grabbed his towel. “I’m off to the showers. Go ahead and eat—there’s seafood Alfredo and chicken Bolognese—take your pick.”

He left, his head cluttered with the three new assignments he’d been given—one of which was a group work, which he _abhorred_. He always ended up either forced to be the leader and do all the work, or forced into a forgettable role—and _still_ do all the work.

Burr sighed. He needed a break— _wanted_ a break. Though he was better now, sometimes he still fell back hard into that cloud of depression that he thought he’d left for good. (You never really do.) He knew he needed a distraction before his mind got a hold of his sanity. It was a long time since his last poem, and whenever he started writing them again, that’s how he knew it was bad.

He almost wrote one earlier today, when he found out that his professor had sorted the groups, and that he had to work with some of the most _lazy_ and _useless_ and _selfish_ —

_My rage stems from  
Years and years and years—_

But he stopped himself. Breathed. Let the anger evaporate out of him like water out of trees.

The shower helped. Burr was feeling cool and refreshed when he returned to the room.

Hamilton had the pasta laid out on his bed, untouched.

“I thought I told you to eat,” Burr said, raising his brow.

The boy shrugged. In the two months that they’d been roommates, he’d had always been quiet. But Burr couldn’t help but feel like he was restraining himself this time.

_Maybe he finally realises how weird this is_ , Burr mused. Burr was acting like a grandmother. Hamilton _must_ be at _least_ creeped out.

Burr put away his things and set himself down on the floor. “Which one do you want?”

“Um.”

“Time’s up. I’m taking the Bolognese.” Internally, he thought, _Good_. He was still critical of his choice in getting them burgers for lunch earlier. _Burgers_ , for heaven’s sake. But he was working with limited time and it was the fastest thing he could get. He had felt so bad about it that he’d bought the orange juice, too—as if it could compensate for the low nutritional value of the patties.

For dinner he had been determined to get something better. And he thought, _Seafood_ , because—dammit all—the boy needed _vitamins,_ and not all that junk he kept shoving into his face and regards a diet.

Burr was thinking about what to get them tomorrow when Hamilton spoke up.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, Burr.”

It was the first time he heard him say his name. He hadn’t even been sure he _knew_ his name.

Burr went on eating.

“Burr? Did you hear me?” And there was a hint of annoyance in his voice that annoyed Burr, too. “I said you don’t have to keep buying me food.”

Burr put down his food. He raised a sarcastic brow at him. “Don’t I?”

“ _No_ ,” Hamilton growled, reminding Burr again of how his fierce voice was out of place in that languid frame of his. “I can do it myself.”

Now Burr was angry. “ _Can you_?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

“Yes—” but he stammered. Looked down at his fettucine—shrimp, salmon and squid.

And Burr felt horrible.

He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t helping Hamilton out for _him_. If he was blunt about it, he was doing it so he wouldn’t have it on his conscience later down the road. He knew how these things went. One day you’re there, the next you’re just... not.

And Burr didn’t think he could handle another lost soul.

He stood and eased onto the bed next to Hamilton. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, rubbing his face. _I had a long day_. “If you’re worried about the money, it’s fine. You can repay me whenever, never, however, whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand. Money was important, but living was irreplaceable.

“It’s not the money,” Hamilton muttered, still looking down. “I—” He let out a deep sigh. “I feel like such a burden. And I don’t want to be a burden. I’m pathetic, I know, but I’d rather die—”

“Don’t say that,” Burr snapped.

Hamilton looked up in surprise. “I wasn’t—I’m not going to—”

“That’s what they all say.”

Hamilton blinked hard, his face pained.

Ah. This was going all wrong.

Burr rose from the bed. “I’m going to keep getting you food until you can get it yourself— _proper_ food, mind. Until then, I’m not stopping, so it’s no use arguing.”

Hamilton studied his face, that hint of pain still on his brows. Finally, he nodded. Went back to eating his food in silence, a slow bite at a time.

Burr went out to throw his empty container away. Washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror, wondering whether he’d said something harmful, wondering whether he’d backfired and made everything Hamilton was dealing with that much worse.

But when he opened the door to their room, Hamilton was on his way out to throw his own empty container away, a towel slung over his shoulder.

It was the first time Burr saw him out of the room in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burr’s almost-poem is from one I’d written last May. The final stanza goes:
> 
> _Do not trust the pictures_  
>  _The smiles in frames_  
>  _People pretend when they hear a signal_  
>  _Say cheese, tell lies_
> 
> I publish this chapter now, but I’ve actually written it on the 10th of June, only days after Anthony Bourdain took his own life.  
>  Friends, stay alive. Please. I love you. There’s a reason you’re reading this, and these words I’m typing right now is a sign for you to not give up and to not give in to your cloud. I love you.  
>  Thank you for reading, and please keep on reading.


	4. Chapter 4

By Wednesday, their shared meals felt more like a comfortable habit than a compelled necessity.

Hamilton had gotten up and showered every day, coming back smelling like lavender soap. He’d shaved, cut his nails, combed his hair. He’d tidied up his bed and desk (which Burr had to admit had been _messy_ ). He’d even done his laundry—a big feat.

He still wasn’t going to classes, though, but Burr knew enough not to push him.

Besides, the faculty wasn’t just going to kick out their _best_ student in _decades_. Burr glanced at the boy now. They were sitting side by side on Hamilton’s bed, leaning back against the headboard. He’d wanted to reward Hamilton in some way, so he’d gotten them ice-cream. (“ _Strawberry or chocolate_?” “ _Cho_ —” “ _Time’s up, I’m taking the chocolate_.” “ _Dammit, Burr_!”)

Burr fought down an amused smile. Hamilton was eating his dessert with great relish, his face glowing. Burr could smell the lavender of his soap, the citrus of his detergent. And Hamilton really was good looking when he took care of himself.

 _Really_ good looking.

“I’ve been thinking,” Hamilton said suddenly, and Burr blinked out of his thoughts.

“About what?”

“Food.”

“You say it like you’re capable of thinking of other things.”

“Shut up, Burr,” he said, but he was grinning. He put down his cup of ice-cream. “This Thursday—tomorrow, I mean—I think I can handle getting my lunch. You don’t have to rush back from class.”

Now Burr put down his. “You know I don’t mind looking like tigers are at my heels, right?” He tried to mean it as a joke, but his voice fell flat. “Hamilton, if you need more time—”

“No, it’s okay. My test is tomorrow.”

“Civil Procedure?”

“Yeah.”

Burr glanced at the textbooks on the bed that Hamilton had been reading for the past few days. He knew Hamilton was younger than him (he’d seen his date of birth) but the boy was a year his senior in the same course. He looked back up at him. He was clean, well-fed, motivated and, well—he looked almost happy.

So Burr smiled, a genuine smile. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, I know! But it’s a bridge to Ham’s POV in the next chap.  
> Thank you for the comments and kudos. I love you all. <3  
> The next one's loooong(er). Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Hamilton felt like shit times a _million hundred thousand_.

Throughout the entire day, people had turned to stare at him, varying degrees of the same emotions in their eyes—shock, disbelief, contempt, envy, disgust.

He tried his best to ignore them—kept his head up and walked evenly even though his nerves screamed for him to run and hide in a broom cupboard or wherever—anywhere he could be alone and in the dark.

He thought he was doing a pretty decent job of surviving the day.

Then he reached the class for his test and spotted Madison and Jefferson.

“ _Well, well, well_ ,” they drawled in sync, sneering.

Hamilton sidestepped them and took his seat. After the test (an easy A), he stood up quickly and headed for the door when—

“ _Not so fast, Hamilton_ ,” the voices drawled. “ _You’ve got some nerve showing up for a test you’re not eligible to take_.”

Hamilton couldn’t retort—because how could he? They were right. The only reason the professors were still allowing him to take tests and exams and hand in his assignments remotely though he skipped almost 100% of his classes was because of his stupid damn brain. A _genius_. The only thing Hamilton hated more than people like Madison and Jefferson was his own inability to succumb to failure.

They had blocked his way with three others, classmates of his that he didn’t know the names of.

 _Don’t provoke them_ , Hamilton had advised himself.

But his mouth ran away from him—years of frustration gushing out in careless remarks—and a gust of air was knocked out of him as the first fist flew.

Now Hamilton stood in front of his dorm, body hurting and feelings tangled. He looked down and saw that light was streaming out from under the door.

Burr was in.

Hamilton braced himself, wincing from both physical and emotional pain. He opened the door.

“Hey, welcome ba—what the _fuck_ happened?!”

Hamilton pushed past the guy to get his towel. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Are you fucking me? You’re _bleeding_ —what the _fuck_ —”

It was the first time he’d heard Burr curse so much. “I just need a shower. I’m _fine_.” And he slammed the door shut in his haste to get away. He couldn’t handle it. He already felt pitiful as it is, and Burr being kind would’ve been the last straw to his already frayed stability.

The shower was agonising. His face was bruised. His lip was split. His side where the first punch had landed made it hard to breathe. And his wrists and knuckles were sore from his attempts at getting his own punches in—note the word “attempts”.

He felt like shit times infinity.

Back outside the door to his room, after spending as long as he could hiding in the shower, Hamilton felt like maybe infinity wasn’t a big enough amount to encapsulate how horrible he felt.

Burr was the only one who had shown any hint of being a true friend to him—in weeks, in _months_ —and what had Hamilton do?

Slam the door in his face.

“I’m Alexander fucking Hamilton,” he muttered under his breath. Sighing, he inched the door open. He needed to apologise.

But the apology stopped short on his tongue. Burr was sitting on his bed, a first-aid kit on his lap, glaring at him.

“Sit. Down. Hamilton.”

Hamilton gulped. He sat down.

Burr went to work with the visible wounds first. Hamilton winced but stayed quiet as Burr applied disinfectant and dressed his cuts, his fingers deft and steady as if he’d been doing it all his life. The guy smelled like rosemaries. He must’ve taken a shower before Hamilton got to the room. Hamilton liked rosemaries.

Burr took his chin and turned his head this way and that, eyes serious, and put a band-aid on across his jaw. Hamilton knew there wasn’t much left to do since most of his injuries were internal—and even those weren't _that_ bad. When he thought back on it, Madison and Jefferson had seemed as shocked as he was when one of the three nameless classmates of his made the dispute physical.

When Burr had finished, he closed the kit, sat back and crossed his arms.

Hamilton looked down, guilt hurting him more than any punch could. “I’m sorry.”

Burr waited.

“Thank you—”

“Are you going to tell me who did it or not?”

Hamilton’s heart pounded—in gratefulness, in fear. He shook his head. “It won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

“I’m worrying.”

Hamilton looked up. The glare on Burr’s face had eased. But he still looked torn between demanding Hamilton for answers and storming out to get them himself. Finally, he sighed and uncrossed his arms.

“Hamilton—”

But Hamilton cut him off anxiously. “The next test won’t be until next month—at least the one I can’t make up with extra credit. That’s plenty of time for things to cool down.”

“Like how it’s been cooling down for the past year?”

“That—”

“Without change, it’s only going to get worse over time.”

Hamilton hung his head. “I know.”

Burr’s voice was gentler, excruciatingly kinder when he said, “Hamilton, you can’t keep skipping class.”

Hamilton was blinking back the sting in his eyes. “I know,” he said softly. Burr’s hand was near his on the mattress, and without thinking, Hamilton edged closer and touched his fingers to Burr’s. He needed warmth. He needed to know it was going to be okay.

Burr laced their fingers. “Let me walk you to class. Let me protect you.”

Hamilton’s heart was pounding, pounding.

Burr was saying, “We can get lunch between classes together, too. Outside, for a change. The fresh air will do you good.”

Hamilton couldn’t take it. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

And Hamilton was crying. “Stop being so nice.”

He looked up at him when the silence stretched too long.

Burr didn’t wipe away his tears. Didn’t give him a reassuring smile. Instead, his eyes darkened, and Hamilton saw again that maybe this was a man to be afraid of.

“I’m not a nice person, Hamilton.”

Hamilton couldn’t see past the dark veil over his roommate’s eyes. “I don’t believe that,” he mumbled, but suddenly he was uncertain. They’d been sharing an enclosed, intimate space for almost three months—but he knew next to nothing about him.

The man who smelled like rosemaries retracted his hand and turned away. “You should get some sleep. I’m walking you to class tomorrow.”

And with that, he got up from the bed, and Hamilton felt a black hole where once there was light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, shit. Sorry for this chapter. I had no idea where I was going with this at the time, and when I have no direction, I tend to go sad. :(  
> But it gets better. Thanks for reading, my loves. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Hamilton tried and tried and _tried_ to ignore the stares, but with Burr walking beside him, it was so much worse. Now he felt every horrible thing he’d felt before, but with _guilt_.

Burr’s face was calm (how can he be calm?!) as he kept in step with Hamilton’s jittery pace. Hamilton did his best to use the route he knew had the least amount of traffic, but eventually they neared his class, and Hamilton was at a loss at avoiding a hundred of his classmates.

At the door, he spotted Madison and Jefferson right away. They turned their heads in sync towards him like predators who always knew where their prey was. Hamilton tried returning the glare they were shooting at him, but really he felt like an infant in a cot—crying and halfway to pissing himself. The cuts on his face and arms stung under their bandages, and he knew if there were to be a second physical dispute, Hamilton wouldn’t get away with just minor injuries.

“So they’re the ones, huh?” Burr said under his breath, that hint of a dangerous man darkening his eyes.

Hamilton pulled his sleeve. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. I should get in.”

Burr nodded but didn’t tear his eyes away from the two, who had noticed him too and had amplified their glares into snarls.

The last thing Hamilton wanted was to get Burr involved any deeper into his problems. “Burr—I’ll see you back in the room?”

“No.” Burr shook his head. “I’ll be right here.”

Hamilton looked around the hall in wonder. “Here?”

Burr shrugged. “I’ll walk around then come back by the end of your class. Go on.” He gave Hamilton a gentle nudge when the professor entered the class. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

Hamilton sat as far away from the others as he could, but it still didn’t help him hide. The professor was _thrilled_ to see him finally attending class, and he took fifteen agonising minutes to quiz him in front of everyone— _How are you! You look better than I last saw you—when was that again? And by the bye, your essay on polemic necessity in the courtroom was brilliant—I expect the rest of you to study his example!_

Hamilton sunk down low in his seat and wished merciful lightning from heaven to burn him to a crisp right then and there.

He was up and running for the door the instant the professor dismissed the class. True to his word, Burr was right outside, leaning back against the wall, reading on his phone. “Let’s go.” Hamilton grabbed his sleeve and pulled them away.

Burr looked back over his shoulder, his eyes darkening, and Hamilton saw what he saw.

Madison and Jefferson fuming as they watched them leave.

* * *

 Hamilton flopped onto his bed and let out a humongous sigh. He was _exhausted_.

“Today went well.” Burr sat on the edge of Hamilton’s bed, smiling. “You did good.”

Hamilton groaned into his pillow. “I hate the entirety of human existence. Also, I need a 36-hour nap.”

Burr let out a laugh. “Divide that by 18 and I’ll have it with you.”

Despite himself, Hamilton blushed. He looked up to see whether his roommate had meant it as an innuendo, but Burr’s smile was gone as he stared at his phone.

“Burr?”

Burr blinked, and the smile was back. “I’ll go get our dinner.”

Hamilton was getting up. “I’ll go with you—”

“That’s fine. You should rest.” He stood and was out the door before Hamilton could argue.

Hamilton plonked his face onto his pillow, all the negative emotions of the day rushing back to him at once—the stares, the whispering, Madison’s and Jefferson’s stupid scary faces. Burr had now seen first-hand what a day in Hamilton’s _stellar_ life looked like.

 _He probably can’t stand being seen with me any longer_ , Hamilton thought not for the first time that day, and let out another huge sigh.

He really liked Burr, and he knew he couldn’t keep being dependent on him. Burr wasn’t a butler, a nurse, or a bodyguard. Burr was a _person_ —he was his friend. Hamilton had to try to become better.

Sunlight had faded and Hamilton almost dozed off when Burr finally returned. He was holding a pizza box.

“That took a long time for pizza,” Hamilton mumbled sleepily.

Burr shrugged. “Met some friends. Here.” He opened the box and Hamilton was fully awake from the aromas.

 _Pizza_ , fuck _yes_. (Only second best to hamburgers.)

Burr was laughing. “Well, leave some for me, too.”

They went to bed early that night. And when the next day arrived, Burr shook him awake for class and went with him, reassuring him all the way.

Hamilton thought it might have been worse.

But it was surprisingly... _okay_.

People still stared, of course, but the whispering lessened, and for a moment—just a moment—Hamilton felt like any other normal student in a normal university walking normally to attend his lecture.

When he reached his class, he spotted Madison and Jefferson instantly, hanging out outside the classroom, and seized up in dread, knowing he had to pass by them to get into the room.

But when the two turned around, their glares weren’t directed at him.

“Good morning, boys,” Burr greeted, unaffected, smiling. Hamilton’s jaw dropped as Burr gave Jefferson a friendly pat on the arm.

The two scariest, meanest, bitterest people Hamilton had ever had the misfortune to meet gritted their teeth and nodded back in silence.

_What the fuck?_

The professor entered the class and Madison and Jefferson shuffled in grumpily, but Hamilton grabbed Burr’s sleeve and pulled him into a corner.

“ _What was that_?” Hamilton hissed in his face.

Burr blinked at him innocently. “What was what?”

“ _Burr_ ,” Hamilton begged, clutching his hand.

So Burr confessed. Apparently, Burr’s uncle was the CEO of the company Jefferson’s dad worked in. And Burr’s other uncle—“ _I have a lot of relatives_ ”—was the highest investor in Madison’s family business. Burr had met up with the two in secret last night before getting the pizza and had a _cordial conversation of peaceful blackmail_.

When Burr finished his narrative, Hamilton stared down at their shoes in silence.

Uncertainly, Burr gave Hamilton’s hand a squeeze. “Did I do something I shouldn’t have?” he asked softly, and Hamilton couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the Burr who was gentle, kind and beautiful, with the Burr who was dark, intimidating and vengeful.

“Alexander,” Burr murmured, and Hamilton felt like crying. “I’m sorry. I should have asked for your permission. I was rash. I thought—I thought I was doing a good thing. I’m sorry. No, don’t cry, please. I’m sorry. Please, Alex—”

And Hamilton cried harder because Burr sounded like _he_ was about to cry, too. He clutched at Burr, and buried his face into Burr’s chest, feeling too much, feeling too full, and in their little corner, Burr pulled him close and hugged him until Hamilton’s class ended, and the sound of shuffling feet broke them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  
> Believe me, I’m screaming as hysterically as (I hope) you guys are.  
> Thanks for the comments and kudos and for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Days passed, and it got better.

Burr still accompanied Hamilton to his classes, but like their shared meals, it had become more of a habit than a necessity. Madison and Jefferson had stopped bothering him, and with him attending his daily classes like the rest of them, they had quickly lost the core of their hate for him, now seeing him not as an injustice but as an intellectual rival.

It got better with Burr, too.

Hamilton had calmed down and gathered his thoughts and feelings enough to thank him, and thank him, and then thank him some more.

_“Tell me how to repay you.”_

_“You don’t have to repay me, Hamilton.”_

Burr was too kind for his own good.

Hamilton _really_ liked him.

They were eating dinner on Hamilton’s bed when the thought kept reappearing in his mind. _I really like Burr_. He finished his food and tried to shake the thought away, but it came back every time with double the insistence. _I really, really like Burr_.

Hamilton did what he did when he felt something too strongly but couldn’t figure out:

He stepped out of himself.

He saw them—Hamilton and Burr—in their room, eating dinner on the bed side by side as they leaned back on the headboard. Their shoulders were touching, and they were sharing a blanket over their outstretched legs—thighs, knees, toes sometimes touching under the cover, too.

Burr was shining. His smiles genuine, his eyes warm, liquid sun. He made Hamilton laugh, blush, ramble away. Burr listened to every word. He gave Hamilton pieces of his food as Hamilton gave him pieces of his, too. And in these small exchanges their fingers touched—hands touched, arms touched. They couldn’t seem to stop touching each other—playful, innocent, subconscious.

Burr tilted his head curiously as he watched Hamilton stare into space.

“Hamilton?” he said.

Hamilton stared into nothing, still away from himself, seeing himself in the third person.

“Alexander?” Burr said, and he leaned into Hamilton’s face.

Hamilton stared at Burr’s lips.

_I really like you._

“What are you thinking about?” Burr asked, and his voice was soft in their proximity.

Hamilton blinked, and everything rushed back to him as he stepped back into himself.

Their bodies were touching, and Burr was so close— _so close_. Hamilton blushed crimson and hot, his heart shocked into thundering.

Burr tilted his head curiously.

Hamilton’s voice was a small whisper. “Burr—” _I really like you_. He swallowed, nervous, scared but hopeful beyond restraining. “ _Aaron_ —can I—can I kiss you?”

Burr blinked, and like Hamilton, he seemed to suddenly come back and step into himself.

His eyes darkened.

“No.”

Hamilton couldn’t breathe.

Burr gathered their empty containers and plastic utensils and rose to throw them away, but Hamilton grabbed his shirt and pulled him back.

“Why not?” And Hamilton was almost whining. He was pathetic, but _he really liked Burr_ , and for a moment—for many moments in the past weeks—it had seemed as if Burr _really liked him, too_.

“Why are you asking this?”

“I—I’m—I just—”

Burr was shaking his head. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Hamilton.”

“ _Why_ _not_?” And now Hamilton really was whining. _Fuck_ , get a _grip_.

He could see anger flashing in Burr’s eyes. “Do you have to have everything?”

Shit. Now that _hurt_.

But Burr wasn’t done. He faced Hamilton fully, and he seemed suddenly to grow taller.

“I can get you food. I can help you dress your wounds. I can walk you to class. But I can’t do this, Hamilton—not right now—not with you like this—and I can’t keep on doing the rest forever, either.”

“I _know_ ,” Hamilton choked. He _knew_. Of course he knew. The words he’d been afraid to be true were rushing out of him in broken torrents. “I know I can’t keep on depending on you. I know I can’t keep on being a burden to you. And I don’t _want_ to. I don’t want to be just a _problem_ you have to deal with. I—I’m trying to be better.” His voice cracked—a child promising his best friend the world when he didn’t even know how big it was himself. “I’m trying—I’m trying to become a Hamilton that doesn’t need a Burr.”

“Can you promise me that?” And Burr’s eyes were fire, his voice steel. “Can you promise me you can wake up every day without me stirring you? Can you promise me you can take proper meals in a balanced diet on your own?”

“I—” Hamilton felt his heart breaking even as he sat up straighter and bravely held Burr’s glare. “I’ll try.”

Burr sat back down. “Okay.” He studied Hamilton’s face, and the merciless fire in his eyes was gone. “Okay.”

Hamilton was still clutching on to Burr. It seemed he was always clutching on to Burr.

He let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhhhh.  
> I freak out over my own fics, too, guys, help me.  
> On a serious note, though, I hope we can all strive to become a Hamilton that doesn’t need a Burr—no matter how painful and hard that is.  
> I believe in you. You can do it.  
> Thanks for reading. <3


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Hamilton woke up by himself minutes before Burr did.

It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

Burr had class the same period as him, so the walk to the faculty buildings thankfully felt less due to dependence, and more due to their simple camaraderie.

When Burr dropped him off at class, Hamilton stopped him. “You don’t have to wait up for me.”

Burr studied him for a long moment, his face revealing nothing. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Hamilton nodded. “I’m sure.” He was terrified, but he’d meant the words he’d uttered the night before. He wanted to be better. He wanted to fulfil that promise to Burr—that promise to himself. “I’ll see you back in the room.”

Burr’s smile formed slow and beautiful. “Okay.”

Hamilton entered his class blushing and biting down a grin. _He can do this_. He can do this!

Then the professor entered and gave them a new assignment, and Hamilton’s grin was immediately wiped away as he thought, _Okay, fuck, maybe I can’t do it._

_Group work._

There were a lot of repercussions from his prolonged truancy in the past months—the past _year_ —but none of them worse than Hamilton not being able to recognise ninety-nine per cent of his classmates. He looked around the class now from the back row in frantic helplessness and realised he could only name less than ten people—and that was including _Madison_ and _Jefferson_ , for heaven’s sake.

He was panting, heart wild and dizzy, and he knew he was on the edge of panic.

_Alexander?_

Hamilton snapped his eyes open. _Burr_. Burr—he needed Burr.

_What are you thinking about?_

Hamilton blinked back tears, trying to gulp in deep breaths.

_I’m thinking about being scared. I’m thinking about my classmates hating my guts._

And in his head, Burr’s voice was clear. Sensible, gentle.

_Why would they hate you?_

Hamilton choked down a sob. _I skip class a lot but still get good grades. I don’t know their names. I never cared to get to know them. They don’t know who I am, either._

_Exactly. They don’t know you. We cannot hate someone we don’t know, Alexander. They don’t hate you._

Hamilton was breathing, in deep, out long.

 _Name the ones you know for me_ , Burr requested in his head.

Hamilton looked around the class again, slightly calmer. _Laurens_ , he answered. _Bartow_. _Mulligan_. _Schuyler_. _Lafayette_. _Reynolds_.

 _Good_ , Burr praised. _Tell me who you trust the most out of those names_.

Hamilton considered. Thanks to the past couple of weeks of attendance, he _did_ feel some semblance of familiarity to them, and he saw and heard snippets of how they talked, who they talked to, and what they talked about.

 _Laurens_ , Hamilton decided.

_Very good, Alexander. I want you to approach him after class. Can you do that for me?_

Hamilton’s heart rate was increasing again.

 _I’ll be with you_ , Burr promised. _I’m right here_.

And Hamilton wanted to cry, because he knew—he _knew_ —that it wasn’t just a childish, crazy voice in his head that he had to use to calm himself down. He _knew_ , if the real, tangible, physical Burr had been right there, right then with him in class, he would have said the exact same things.

So Hamilton took a deep, steadying breath, and said to Burr, _Okay_.

The professor dismissed the class, and Hamilton felt to the very tips of his fingers trembles of anxiety.

Laurens was hanging back, chatting and laughing with Lafayette and Mulligan.

Hamilton stood up and approached them.

“Um—pardon me.”

His voice was so small he didn’t think they’d hear, but Laurens turned around and his face registered the surprise at having Alexander Hamilton talking to them. Hamilton spluttered out the words before his panicking nerves could defeat him.

“Hi—um—do you—do you need another member in your group?”

His question ended in a squeak, but Laurens didn’t seem to notice. He turned back to Lafayette and Mulligan, eyes bulging, as they bulged their eyes right back at him. (Lafayette even went one step further and was _gawking_ at Hamilton—until Laurens kicked him none too gently under the table—and he snapped his mouth shut.) They seemed to be having a silent conversation with only their bulging eyes and littlest body movements.

Finally, Laurens turned back to Hamilton. “Actually,” he said, grinning. “We do.”

And Hamilton felt for the first time in his university life the sense of a friendship blossoming in a classroom where once there had only been infertility.

Burr’s voice in his head was chuckling. _Told you they didn’t hate you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SO PROUD OF MY LITTLE HAMMY UGHH.  
> And guys, it’s totally okay to have a little Burr in your mind helping you get through things. (Personally, I have that voice too. His name’s Dylan. He’s very dear to me.) If that’s what you need, then go for it, and love yourself for it. You’re coping, and that’s amazing, and I’m proud of you.  
> Thanks for reading. <3


	9. Chapter 9

Hamilton told Burr all about it when he returned to the room, including the fact that he’d heard Burr’s voice clearer than crystal in his head.

“ _I’m sorry—is that weird_?”

“ _You don’t have to apologise, Hamilton. I’m very glad I could be there for you even without physically being there with you. I have your voice in my head sometimes, too_.”

Hamilton wanted to kiss him then and there—that amazing rosemary man—but he restrained himself.

He was making progress with his promise to Burr, yes, but he wasn’t _there_ yet. There were still a lot of things he needed to do, needed to be. He would take as long as he needed to make Burr proud of him, and he knew Burr would wait patiently and support him the entire journey.

They each had a class during the same period the next day, too, and this time, Hamilton woke half an hour earlier than Burr did.

He was dressed and ready and was drafting out his part of the group project by the time Burr was awake. And Hamilton could swear Burr was _glowing_.

They walked to class together, and at his door when Hamilton said, _See you in the room_ , Burr was almost grinning.

Hamilton was grinning himself when he seated himself at his usual seat at the back row. He caught Laurens’s eye and the guy actually waved ( _enthusiastically_!) to him all the way from the other side of the room. Letting out a laugh, Hamilton waved back.

At the end of class, Hamilton looked up from packing his stuff and _there_ was Laurens heading right towards him, Lafayette and Mulligan in tow.

“Hey, Alex,” Laurens said easily, grinning his huge grin. “Wanna have lunch with us?”

“We are going for American— _hamburgers_ ,” Lafayette intoned with a thick accent.

“It’s not _American_ if we’re in America,” Mulligan said gruffly, but his twitching mouth betrayed his tease. “We just call it _food_ here.”

“Fine, then. We are going for food— _hamburgers_.”

And Hamilton laughed and said yes.

He returned to the room at the end of the day feeling lighter and happier than he’d ever felt. The three guys were _noisy_ —but they were also friendly and funny and nothing but harmless jokes and positivity.

Burr wasn’t there when he came back. Hamilton waited as long as he could, his stomach growling, before deciding to just go and get some food himself. He went to the nearby canteen and took potatoes, fish fillet and greens— _a balanced diet_ —and returned an hour later to a still empty room.

He spent the night researching on the topic of his group project and writing down ideas. It was just a ten-page essay assignment, but Hamilton wanted to do his best for his new friends. When the clock showed eleven, Hamilton switched off his desk light but kept the main light on, and went to bed.

In the morning, he woke early to attend a group meeting with Laurens and the gang. Burr was snoring lightly on his bed, and Hamilton did his best to be quiet as a mouse as he got ready. Burr was still asleep when he clicked the door shut and locked it, keeping the curtains drawn and the lights off for him.

“Hey, Alex!” greeted Laurens with his usual high-volume cheer when he reached their meeting place. Lafayette and Mulligan grinned at him and waved. They each had a cup of coffee in their hands, and Hamilton was touched to see that they’d gotten one for him, too.

“ _Please_ tell us you know how to save this essay from doom—because we sure don’t,” Mulligan said.

“We are all buffoons,” Lafayette agreed.

And Hamilton had to take five minutes to stop laughing.

* * *

Days passed and Hamilton seemed to spend less and less time in the room.

He ate lunch and sometimes dinner with his three groupmates, who had become inseparable to him inside _and_ outside of the classroom at a speed Hamilton was still very much pleasantly surprised at.

“ _You’re part of the team now_ , _remember_?” Laurens had said, and Hamilton felt warmth right down to his toes.

He visited the room mostly just to sleep or to grab a book before briskly going out again. Burr seemed to be in the room as rarely as he was—coming back to sleep when Hamilton was already snoring.

The day before their group project was due, Laurens invited them all to an overnight stay at their university’s 24-hour library. Having Hamilton in their team seemed to have made the three of them more serious in getting good grades—“ _We’d sooner dance naked in the campus fountain than bring down Alexander Hamilton’s perfect GPA_.”

Before he left, Hamilton went over to Burr’s desk—papers were strewn messily on it—and wrote Burr a note to say where he’d be. He looked to the empty bed, the empty chair, the empty room, and added at the bottom:

_I miss you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I miss Burr too but are Laurens, Mulligan and Lafayette cute and precious af or what?  
> Thanks for reading! <3  
> (As of 44 minutes ago, it's officially my birthday today, btw, and I'm trying not to feel sad that I didn't get any midnight wishes from family or friends welp. Life goes on!)


	10. Chapter 10

Hamilton spent an extra day away from the room after his 24-hour library meet, staying over at Laurens’s room.

He was impressed the four of them could fit into his room, plus his roommate Lee and Lee’s boyfriend Seabury.

“ _You lot are bloody noisy_ ,” Seabury had complained.

“ _I thought Laurens alone was bad—I was wrong_ ,” Lee had agreed.

Laurens stuck his tongue out at his roommate as Mulligan gave Seabury a not so gentle punch on the arm.

That night, the four of them talked for hours, and Hamilton found himself for a moment stepping out of his body again. He saw himself—a scrawny boy who spent too much time on his phone and in his mind—in the middle of a group of cheerful people who not only accepted his awkwardness, but actually welcomed it with supportive arms. They teased him constantly, but he saw them teasing each other, too, and knew that it was their way of showing affection.

When they were falling asleep, sprawled out on the floor in a mess of blankets and pillows, he heard Laurens quietly whisper into the dark, “ _I’m glad I found you guys_.”

“ _Well_ ,” Mulligan whispered back, and was that a croak in his voice? “ _You’re the loudest among us. I think it’s_ us _who found_ you.”

“ _You’re the biggest_ ,” Laurens shot back, and Hamilton could hear a laugh in his tone. “ _Maybe_ we _found_ you. _Kinda hard to miss_.”

“ _Alex’s the most conspicuous_. _If anyone’s hard to miss, it’s him_.”

“ _What am I_?” Lafayette asked eagerly as Hamilton blushed.

“ _The most annoying_ ,” Laurens and Mulligan said at the same time.

“ _Hey_!”

Then Lee and Seabury shushed them and cursed them and they quieted—

But so help him, Hamilton couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

He had found a home.

* * *

It was a Saturday when Hamilton finally returned to his room, and he knew Burr would be there.

The guy turned from his textbooks when Hamilton entered with a bag in his hand, the beautiful smile that Hamilton loved on his face.

“Hey,” Burr greeted, his voice soft, his eyes encapsulating the goodness of the world.

“Hi,” Hamilton sighed happily. _I missed you so much_.

Burr shifted in his chair to face him completely. Hamilton waited, a slow blush spreading throughout his body, as his roommate studied him.

Then Burr grinned—actually fully _grinned_ —and said, “You’ve been doing well.”

Hamilton looked down and shuffled his feet, abashed—but he was feeling super embarrassingly proud of himself. He was fulfilling his promise to Burr. Waking up at regular hours. Keeping himself groomed and healthily fed. Feeling fine (and, recently, even _excited_ ) to leave the reassuring familiarity of the room. Things that were unthinkable and unbelievable merely two months ago.

He raised the bag in his hand and gave Burr a shy grin. “I bought ice-cream. You want to take a break?”

Burr’s smile could power Hamilton’s wings to heaven. “Gladly.”

They settled themselves on Hamilton’s bed, leaning back on the cool wall. Their shoulders were touching, their legs were touching, their fingers touching on occasion—and Hamilton was lightweight with happiness.

Can someone die of happiness? Because Hamilton thought that might be the way he wanted to go. _Here lies Alexander Hamilton. Death by happiness à la Aaron Burr._

Hamilton gave the chocolate ice-cream to Burr and took the strawberry for himself without asking. They knew each other’s preferences by this time. Side by side, Hamilton and Burr talked and caught up with each other’s lives. Burr listened to his first, a proud smile on his face the whole time. Then Hamilton listened to his, and the smile faded.

Burr was struggling with one of his assignments—a group project. Unlike Hamilton’s short ten-page essay with Laurens and the gang, Burr’s was a _dissertation_ , carrying a huge percentage of his final grade. (Hamilton remembered doing it himself during his time—he didn’t sleep for days.)

Burr didn’t say it outright, but Hamilton deduced that he was the one who was putting in the most effort into completing the assignment. Hamilton felt a white anger that surprised him bubbling in his chest. Burr was _brilliant_ —more brilliant than he gave himself credit for—and for his classmates to take advantage of that?

Hamilton finally understood that darkness he’d seen Burr felt for his sake sometimes.

Burr took his hand, and Hamilton realised he’d balled his hands into fists, his empty ice-cream cup crushed in his other hand.

“Don’t stress yourself, Hamilton,” Burr coaxed. He put away his empty ice-cream cup as Hamilton did the same. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Hamilton stared at their interlaced hands, his heart torn between beating for happiness and anger.

“You shouldn’t _need_ to be handling it,” Hamilton mumbled. “Your classmates are jerks.”

“No, my current _groupmates_ are. I’m sure there are decent people I’ll be working with in the future.”

Hamilton thought of Laurens, Mulligan and Lafayette. He nodded, hopeful but unsure.

Burr sat back on the wall and closed his eyes.

Something had shifted in the air. For the first time, Hamilton was the one to step back and study Burr.

He looked so sad. Hamilton couldn’t explain it, but the sadness about Burr’s frame was a familiar one. When you’ve experienced it yourself, you could always identify it in others.

He gave Burr’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Please talk to me, Burr.”

Burr opened his eyes, slow, heavy. He sighed. “I have bad days sometimes,” he divulged quietly. “Lately,” he whispered, stroking his thumb on Hamilton’s hand, “it’s been bad.”

Hamilton thought of the scribbled papers he saw on Burr’s desk the day he left him a note. He hadn’t wanted to pry, so he’d cast his eyes away, but the way the words on the papers were arranged reminded him of the form of poems. Was that how Burr coped?

There had been a lot of them.

Hamilton wanted to hug him. Wanted to give him the world. “Tell me how to help you.”

Burr shook his head. “It’s fine. You don’t have to. It’ll go away eventually. I just—I just need time.”

But Hamilton could hear that doubt and fear that he’d himself felt so often, so deeply. He moved to face Burr completely, his act so big he was practically on his roommate’s lap. He couldn’t help it. Burr hurting was _him_ hurting.

“Aaron,” Hamilton said softly, and Burr looked up at him and his eyes were glistening. “I want to help you.” He bit his lower lip, feeling too many emotions at once—helplessness, longing, empathy, grief, and maybe even something like love. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Burr’s eyes darted down when Hamilton had bitten his lip, and now he met his eyes again, and they were black pools of bottomless water. “You don’t need to, Alexander,” he murmured.

“You didn’t need to, either,” Hamilton countered gently, heat spreading through him at the desire he could see in Burr’s eyes. _I can’t do this, Hamilton_ , he’d said so many days ago. _Not right now, not with you like this_. But Hamilton had changed. He _felt_ changed. He felt—somehow, maybe, slightly— _healed_. He had made a promise to Burr, and he’d fulfilled it.

So Hamilton bit his lip again and watched as Burr’s eyes traced the movement. “Tell me what you need, Aaron.”

Burr met his gaze, and now the desire in his eyes was unrestrained. “I need something to keep the thoughts away,” he confessed. “I need a distraction.”

Hamilton’s heart was pounding. “I can manage that,” he whispered, and—finally, _finally_ —he kissed him.

Hamilton drew back to see whether he’d crossed a line, but Burr pushed into him in another kiss—harder, hungrier—and Hamilton forgot about worrying, and held on to him in _very_ pleasant surprise. Burr’s tongue entered his mouth, and Hamilton thought his death by Burr would come sooner than he expected. Their lips were slick from the ice-cream, and Hamilton could taste Burr’s chocolate— _fuck_ , he tasted so good. And he was _relentless_. He pushed Hamilton onto the mattress, flushed him from chest to toes, and Hamilton couldn’t help making small sounds of embarrassed pleasure.

“ _Wow_ ,” Hamilton breathed when they broke apart. He was panting hard, but Burr was breathing almost normally.

A fleeting smirk appeared on Burr’s lips. “How many lovers have you had, Alexander?”

Hamilton blushed at the question. “Um, two—no, wait, three?”

“I had two dozen.”

Hamilton froze. “What?”

Burr’s eyes were dark. “I told you I’m not a good person, Alexander.”

Hamilton tugged at Burr’s shirt. Burr wasn’t smiling and his gaze was more glare than not. But he had an arm on the mattress, pushing himself up so as not to put his whole weight on Hamilton. And his lips were glimmering from their kiss—a kiss that tasted like the first ice-cream those many days ago that he had bought for Hamilton. Seafood Alfredo. Hamburgers. Chicken stir-fry. And the time Hamilton came back with cuts and bruises, wasn’t Burr the one who treated him—physically and emotionally?

Hamilton reached up and placed a gentle hand on Burr’s cheek, smiling for him. “I believe you are, Aaron.”

Burr’s facade broke. “I’m not good for you.”

But Hamilton was already shaking his head. “Aaron, you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. You’re the best thing to have happened to me.” He leaned up and placed a kiss on his forehead. “You helped me to become better. Let me try to be good for you, too,” he whispered. “Don’t think. Just kiss me, Aaron.”

Burr studied his face a long moment. And when he finally leaned down to kiss him, a sort of smile on his beautiful face and something like love in his eyes, Hamilton thought that maybe _this_ was what was bigger than an infinity.

“You’re so good to me, Aaron,” Hamilton murmured encouragingly as Burr kissed his neck, his jaw, his collarbone. Then when Burr started using his _hands_ — _under Hamilton’s clothes_ —Hamilton was panting, “You—You’re _really_ good— _fuck_ —”

And Burr smirked and kissed him harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIKE FINALLY, RIGHT?  
> I KNOW.  
> Thanks for reading, lovelies! <3


	11. Chapter 11

One of the poems that Burr had written in the past few days began like this:

_Sometimes I wonder why we try so hard  
Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just give up_

He had been in the library at night, books spread out before him, as he sat alone for a group meeting. His phone buzzed as the clock kept ticking.

_Sorry, peeps, don’t think I can make it._

_Me, too. Something came up. Be there for the next one._

_Oops, I totally forgot. That was tonight?_

Burr turned his phone off. _Breathe_. It’s fine. It’s okay. Evaporate it out. Like water out of trees.

He set to work on the dissertation.

Instead, he wrote four poems.

“Fuck this,” he cursed under his breath, throwing his pen. He couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t think soundly. He was feeling _murderous_ —

He was feeling lost.

He buried his head in his arms and let the coldness of the night and the air-conditioned library freeze him—mind, body and heart.

When he left the building, his limbs were cold to numbness, and he was as exhausted as if he had taken over Atlas’s job of carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders.

But then he’d reach his room, and Hamilton had left the light on for him. He would wake up in the morning, and Hamilton had kept the curtains drawn. He reached his room, and Hamilton had left a handwritten note for him: _I miss you_.

And Burr’s heart would thaw just a little.

“Any questions?” the professor asked from the podium, and Burr blinked back to the present.

His classmates were raising their hands, but Burr looked down at his notebook.

He didn’t write a thing.

Burr had to cover his mouth to muffle his laughter.

It happened _again_.

Burr had been truthful when he revealed to Hamilton the number of his past lovers. He wasn’t proud of it—far from it. He’d been at his lowest point in life, and he’d sought respite and distraction in every person that happened to glance at him with an unfortunate extra dash of interest.

But it had never been enough.

The distraction would last at the most only until the very next morning. Then he’d wake up beside this _stranger_ —and would feel every bad thing he’d ever felt before come crashing back to him tenfold.

One day—a usual day—as Burr stared at the ceiling beside a snoring someone he’d just met, both of them drunk and high (a first for him), Burr suddenly realised with great conviction that he had taken matters into his own hands and was speeding up the destruction of his life. The thought pissed him off because everyone and everything else was already doing it—mercilessly, unstoppably— _so why the heck was he doing it to himself_?

The revelation was like a snap back to consciousness when he’d been living in a nightmare all his life. Why the fuck _was_ he doing it to himself? There was no answer. _There was no answer_.

That day, when he rose from the bed, he was a changed man. He stopped responding to interested suitors— _shut_ them out as savagely as he’d sought them before. He had stepped out of himself and seen in their eyes how they were using him for reprieve as desperately as he had been using them, and his heart turned to stone.

He sobered up and found new outlets: poetry, volunteerism, academics. He was doing his best and more to try to keep himself grounded in this new state of consciousness—to avoid falling back into that nightmarish self-destructive cloud—the fact that he had to do it alone only fuelling his drive further. He could rely on no one—and he didn’t _want_ to rely on anyone—damn them all to hell.

But as the years passed—as he wrote his demons out, as he built shelters for the homeless, as he got accepted into university—his heart of stone unhardened enough to feel again, to be kind again, to learn to forgive—even himself. Though it was never really the same thereafter.

_I miss you_ , Hamilton had written. Three words that the honest boy couldn’t help but express, desiring nothing but to let his feelings be known, nothing attached, nothing ulterior.

With his past two dozen lovers, no amount of intimacy had been successful in distracting Burr enough from his cloud. It was always there, right behind the pleasure and the recklessness. But with Hamilton—

_Don’t think. Just kiss me, Aaron_.

Heaven above _bless_ him—with Hamilton, it was _working_.

And—fuck—all they’d done was just kiss and touch with their clothes still on.

_But it was enough._

“If there are no more questions, class is dismissed,” said the professor from the front.

His classmates rose from their seats and started to leave, but Burr looked down again at his blank notebook—a book that had lost many pages in the last few days as Burr tore out the ones that he’d poured a poem into—

And he smiled for the tether to his conscious happiness that was Alexander Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, my baby Burr. <3  
> The poem at the start is from one I wrote in May, entitled Fried Rice. I know, weird title for an angsty and bitter poem, but there you go.  
> Thank you all for reading! (And for the comments and kudos ahhhh)


	12. Chapter 12

Hamilton was the one to buy their dinner that night. He’d even bought dessert— _ice-cream_ (an indulgence that Burr willingly overlooked).

But when Hamilton handed Burr the strawberry instead of the chocolate, without questions, without space for debate, Burr wondered what was running through his roommate’s mind.

That was—until Hamilton pushed him onto the bed and kissed him— _hard_.

And Burr tasted the chocolate in Hamilton’s mouth and knew Hamilton was tasting the strawberry in his—and Burr _swore_ he’d never kissed anyone as hungrily as he kissed Hamilton.

And— _fuck_ —Hamilton felt _amazing_. Moaning, and gasping from inexperience. But he was so caught up with their kissing, he forgot he had hands. So Burr reminded him. He snaked his hands under the boy’s shirt and dug in his fingers, letting Hamilton feel the pressure of his hands on his bare skin. A shudder of pleasure rocked the boy, and Burr felt satisfied, then hungry for more.

“ _Aaron_ ,” Hamilton moaned, and Burr knew he’d hear his voice in his head exactly like that the next day in class.

_Another blank notebook, then_ , Burr thought happily.

Hamilton pushed and pulled at Burr, fumbling, eager, dazed. When Burr felt himself harden to a point where it was painful, he knew he had to slow things down.

“ _No_ ,” Hamilton whined, sensing his withdrawal. “ _Don’t you dare stop_.”

“ _Alexander_ ,” Burr chided, feeling a laugh bubbling in his chest. “We don’t have to rush it.”

“We’re not _rushing_ ,” Hamilton retaliated, drawing back to show the ( _immensely adorable_ ) pout to Burr. “We’re doing it at normal speed.” He jabbed a finger at Burr. “This is the regular speed.”

Burr raised his eyebrow at the boy, unable to pass the chance to tease. “Is this the speed you usually go with?”

Hamilton blushed—heart on his sleeve—and Burr let out the affectionate laugh from his chest.

“Forget it,” Hamilton groaned, getting off the bed.

Burr caught his hand easily. “Alexander.”

“No.”

“ _Alexander_.” Burr pulled him back to bed. The boy smelled of lavenders and sunlight—good, beautiful things. Someone like Hamilton deserved slow, burning romance—not fast, mindless lust. Burr wanted to be the person to give Hamilton the best.

“ _A-lex-xan-der_ ,” Burr enunciated into the boy’s ear. Hamilton flushed, a hand on Burr’s chest, weakly trying to decide between pushing him away or yanking him back into his embrace.

So Burr kissed him and made sure it was the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, I had fun writing this one. ;)  
> Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, heyyyy.  
> Umm. Fair warning: the next chapter’s kinda intense. But it’s necessary.  
> Thank you for reading. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: self-harm.

“- _lex! Alex! ALEX_!”

Hamilton jumped, and papers and pens flew everywhere.

Laurens, Lafayette and Mulligan stared at him.

Hamilton sat back down for their study session, flushing and stuttering out an apology and trying to concentrate—

Trying not to think of _Burr_ —his lips, his hands, his tongue— _oh my flying fuck_ , his amazing _tongue_.

“ALEX!”

Hamilton flinched, realising he’d spaced out again.

“Sorry—shit—sorry, you were saying, John?”

Laurens blinked at him in concern. “I asked you whether something’s wrong?”

“We are here to listen,” Lafayette added with an equally creased brow.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Hamilton breathed, registering how it looked like. He shook his head, giving his friends a reassuring grin. “I’m fine, guys. Don’t worry, I—I’m doing really good, actually. Really very good...” He looked down at his notebook. A flowery capital letter A was doodled on it, and he instantly knew what the four missing letters were. He tried not to blush, but he blushed nevertheless.

“Oh, shit,” Mulligan muttered under his breath, spotting the flowery A and figuring it out before the others did. “Our youngest member has found himself a lover—before _us_.”

“Is this true?” Lafayette asked, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “You have fallen in love and got yourself _un amant_?”

Hamilton couldn’t even try to deny it—his crimson face and stammering revealed everything.

“Fry me in oil and call me McHercules. I don’t believe it,” Mulligan said, shaking his head, but that teasing smile was there. Lafayette ruffled his hair like a proud older brother and Laurens said, “Well I’m glad nothing’s wrong, Alex.”

And he had to endure an entire day of a new kind of teasing, but for the life of him, Hamilton couldn’t have felt happier.

* * *

When Hamilton reached the room, he immediately knew something was wrong.

He could hear Burr’s ringtone inside, but light didn’t stream out from under the door. All at once the happiness he had felt earlier in the day felt like a lifetime ago. He eased the door open, and a long creak accompanied his entrance like some sense of foreboding.

Burr was at his desk, hands gripping his head, shoulders tense as stone.

His phone was going haywire.

“Burr?” Hamilton said cautiously, keeping a distance just in case.

Then Hamilton saw it—angry, pulsing lines of black ink across Burr’s arms. He’d written his poems on his skin, and where he’d pressed in too hard— _accidentally_? _Deliberately_?—blood pooled out of the punctures and dotted his arms like freckles—like bullet holes.

Hamilton felt faint. “Aaron—oh my go—”

“ _Leave me alone, Hamilton_.”

Hamilton was crying. He looked around in panic, found the first-aid kit above Burr’s wardrobe. His hands were shaking, his legs wobbled. He approached Burr as terrified as if his own life was in danger.

“Aaron, come here—”

Burr jumped from his chair like a cornered animal. “ _I said leave me alone_!”

Hamilton clutched the kit to his chest, lost, scared, needing help. He never had to deal with something like this before. “Aaron, please—”

Burr’s phone rang. He snatched it up and flung it to the wall, screaming. Hamilton flinched as the phone banged against the wall hard and cluttered to the floor between them in pieces.

“ _Fuck this_ ,” Burr yelled. “ _Fuck all of this_.”

Hamilton dropped the kit and rushed in to pull Burr into an embrace. He couldn’t take it. He didn’t know what to do.

Burr shoved him off, growling, “ _Go away_.”

But Hamilton balanced himself and pulled Burr in again, holding him tighter, sobbing.

“ _I said_ — _go_ —fuck— _fuck_ it, Alexander—”

Burr’s legs crumpled and they collapsed to the floor. And Hamilton held on to him as he cried and screamed and cursed the world and everyone in it. Hamilton held him as Burr blubbered incoherently and pounded at the floor to hurt himself and pounded at Hamilton to hurt him, too. Hamilton held on to him until his voice died out and his freckled ink-and-blood arms hung limp and his energy to hurt depleted.

Hamilton held on to Burr until the only light from the windows diminished and his roommate fell asleep in his arms. He held on to him until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could feel his limbs again. Then, shakily, unsteadily, he opened the first-aid kit and tried to replicate what Burr had done for him before. _I have no idea what I’m doing_. He could laugh. He could go insane. He was so afraid. He had no fucking clue how to treat puncture wounds.

But Hamilton breathed, he concentrated on breathing, and as he wiped the blood and ink away (“ _I want to jump off a cliff_ ” said one line. “ _I am tired of having to do so much_ ” said another) he saw that the punctures weren’t as deep as he had feared, and the blood had long since stopped dripping.

When Hamilton had wiped Burr’s arms as cleanly as he could and disinfected and bandaged where the punctures were the most serious, he put an arm around Burr and half-carried, half-dragged him to bed.

Burr’s eyes fluttered open when Hamilton slid in under the covers with him, but he didn’t say anything as Hamilton pulled him close and kissed his forehead. Brought his arms up to his chest and kissed his bandaged wounds. Kissed his wrists. His palms. His fingers.

“ _I scare myself sometimes_ ” one of his lines had said. “ _I scare myself a lot_ ”.

“I love you, Aaron Burr,” Hamilton kissed the new words into Burr’s skin over the ink, over the blood, of the previous words. He was no poet, but he let his mouth run with the words of his heart, without filter, without shame. “I love you to the moon and back and back again. I love you as the plants love the sun, the rain, the bees who visit them. I love you like the waves that love the wind in a calm sea as well as in a hurricane.”

Hamilton leaned in and kissed Burr’s lips as tears from both of their eyes spilled onto the pillow. “I love everything that you will be, everything that you had been, and everything that you are. This is my poem to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... I need a moment.  
> As usual, snippets of Burr’s poems are snippets of mine, written in May, written in April.  
> Thank you for reading, my loves.


	14. Chapter 14

They woke up the next day with the afternoon sunlight searing on them from the undrawn curtains.

Hamilton’s entire body ached, from emotional stress, from the places Burr’s fist had landed on him last night.

“Hey,” Hamilton said to the man in his arms. His voice was barely audible, but he knew Burr could hear him. “How are you feeling?”

His heart broke when Burr shook his head lightly and rolled over out of his arms, turning his body to face the wall, face away from Hamilton. Hamilton tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He couldn’t break down now, not when Burr needed him to be the stronger one.

They’d both missed their classes for the day. When Hamilton checked the time on his phone—3:17 PM—he saw that he’d gotten three messages, one from each of his friends.

Mulligan’s was sent first. _What’s up with the no show, bro?_

Lafayette’s was sent about the time his second class of the day ended. _Prof. Montgomery gave handouts. I have yours. Also, you can borrow my notes, if you want. (I am lending them to you even if you do not want.)_

Hamilton swallowed another lump, feeling much too many emotions at once. At the last message, he was blinking back tears.

 _Tell me if you need anything_.

Laurens sent it less than half an hour ago.

Hamilton looked back at Burr. He knew he wasn’t sleeping, and he didn’t want to leave him alone. They’d missed their classes and missed breakfast and lunch. Burr’s phone was on the floor, ruined, and anything could happen if Hamilton were to go out to get them food. He wasn’t going to risk that.

He clicked _reply_ on Laurens’s text and started typing.

Not five minutes passed when his phone vibrated.

 _On it_ , Laurens answered, and Hamilton felt relief and gratefulness staving off his nerves.

He replied both Mulligan’s and Lafayette’s messages to apologise and thank them and reassure them that he was fine.

_I’m not the one..._

Hamilton drew the curtains closed and brought his blanket over to Burr’s bed and spread it over the one already on him. Burr didn’t move. Hamilton was gathering up the pieces of Burr’s phone when a soft knock sounded from the door.

“Thanks,” Hamilton sighed in relief as Laurens passed him a bag of takeout. “I owe you one, John.”

Laurens was keeping his voice low, too. “Don’t mention it.” His eyes darted over to the quiet shape on the bed.

Hamilton tensed, worried that Burr might overhear his questions and feel more upset. But Laurens patted his shoulder and wagged his phone meaningfully between them, smiling a small heartening smile, and left, and it was like he hadn’t been there at all.

Hamilton squeezed the takeout to his chest and eased himself onto the bed. Everything he was doing was careful, slow, though his nerves wanted to do exactly the opposite. But he had to be calm. He had to be strong.

“Hey, Aaron?” he said, not quite managing to remove the tremor from his voice. “Will you come and have some food with me?”

Burr didn’t answer.

 _I’m not good enough_ , Hamilton thought in distress. _I have no idea what to do_.

He swallowed and eased closer to the man, the bed creaking even with his littlest movement. “I’ve got meat and vegetables and everything here—the works. Sit up and we can have them together.”

Burr was as still as stone.

“Aaron—?” His voice broke. “Aaron, can you—can you do this for me please—” and Hamilton couldn’t keep the hurt from his tone anymore. Tears spilled from his eyes, and the mere fact that they were made him cry harder. All his insecurities and shortcomings of last night rushed over the dam he had been trying to keep from breaking. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be in control of his emotions. He was supposed to be a Burr when Burr was a Hamilton.

He was crying so hard he only realised Burr sitting up when a gentle hand touched his cheek. He blinked out the tears furiously to see, but they didn’t stop flowing, so Burr was a blurry, beautiful, broken being comforting _him_ when _Hamilton_ was supposed to be the one doing the comforting.

“Fuck—” Hamilton’s sobs stabbed at his heart and words. “I’m so sorry—I should be the one—fuck—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, Aaron—I’m not—I’m so _scared_ —I’m sorry—”

Burr shushed him gently and pulled him into a hug. And Hamilton clutched at him as he cried his eyes out.

“ _Don’t you ever do that again_ ,” he begged almost hysterically, sobs wracking his chest. “ _Don’t you ever hurt yourself again_.” He could see, could hear, could _feel_ the bandages on Burr’s arms—bandages that hid punctures acquired from years of culminated emotions and experiences that Hamilton couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around.

“I’m sorry,” Burr said hoarsely. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

And Hamilton couldn’t stop crying, because he hadn’t said, _I won’t do it again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, fuck. I’m sorry. This was so hard to write.  
> I love you all. You don’t have to stay strong, but please stay alive.  
> Thank you for reading.


	15. Chapter 15

Hamilton drew back from Burr’s embrace, furiously wiping away his tears though it kept falling.

He shoved the food into Burr’s chest and practically growled, “ _Eat_.”

Burr looked away. “I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

Hamilton unwrapped the contents of the bag. Laurens had gotten them fried rice with eggs and chicken bits and peas and carrots and everything Burr would approve of in a nutrient-laden meal. But Hamilton was struggling with getting the container open, his hands shaking from grief, fatigue and anger—anger towards so many things, but especially towards himself and his frailty. The more he shook, the shakier he became.

Burr’s steady fingers took hold of Hamilton’s trembling hands. Quietly, Burr opened the container—aromas wafting up between them—and grabbed the spoon.

“No,” Hamilton said, shaking his head, when Burr offered him the bite of rice. “You first.”

Burr opened his mouth to protest. Saw Hamilton’s wild, stubborn eyes. Knew Hamilton wouldn’t eat unless he himself ate.

Sighed, and ate.

“Now you,” Burr said, gentle, calm, but with that hint of command. His hand with the spoon hovered at Hamilton’s mouth as they argued with their eyes.

Finally, Hamilton relented. He chewed, tasting nothing, as Burr scooped up another spoonful. Without hesitation now, Burr ate the third bite. When he scooped the fourth, his hand returned to Hamilton.

In this way, they took turns eating, Burr feeding them both, until the last spoonful of chicken and peas disappeared into Hamilton’s mouth.

Hamilton’s hands had stopped shaking enough to put their meal away. The curtains were still drawn, the lights were still off. The sunlight had faded. In the dimness, Hamilton looked at Burr—he couldn’t stop looking at him. He ran his fingers over Burr’s close-cropped hair as Burr’s hand found his shirt and tugged at it like a child holding on to his favourite toy to ease his fears.

They lay down onto the bed, and Hamilton tucked them both in together under the blankets. Hamilton pulled Burr close, burying his nose into the scent of rosemary, as Burr gripped at his shirt and breathed deeply, synchronising their inhalations and exhalations.

When they fell asleep, their hearts were beating as one.

* * *

It was Friday morning when Hamilton lumbered into consciousness. Burr’s eyes fluttered open the same time.

“Hey,” Hamilton breathed, a volume meant to be caught only by Burr’s ears. “Feel like going to class today?”

Burr buried his face into Hamilton’s chest and shook his head.

“Okay.” Hamilton hugged him closer. He placed a kiss on top of his head and said what he knew Burr needed to hear. “That’s okay. You don’t have to force yourself. Take as long as you want. I’m right here with you.”

It was a cool morning, but they were warm under the multiple blankets and in each other’s arms. Hamilton was falling asleep again when Burr spoke, his voice muffled against Hamilton’s chest.

“I told the professor.”

Hamilton blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He drew back to let Burr speak clearer.

“About my groupmates...” Burr whispered. “About them not doing... much.”

Hamilton’s heart picked up speed. “What did the professor say?”

The barest glimpse of a frown appeared between Burr’s brows before disappearing, as if he was too tired to portray his emotions any more. “He told me to settle it myself.”

Hamilton felt himself gritting his teeth. “But you _were_ trying to settle it yourself,” he hissed.

Burr nodded passively. “I was.” He blinked fast a few times and Hamilton saw that his eyes were glistening. “They found out.”

_Shit_.

Burr gripped Hamilton’s shirt and pulled him in, muffling his voice again. “They met the professor themselves. They said I was the one missing the meetings. They—they told him I was plagiarising.”

“You would never!” Hamilton burst out, white with rage. “Those bastards—”

But Burr was shaking his head. Hamilton waited for him to say more, knowing there was definitely more, but he fell quiet. A long moment passed before Hamilton heard the unmistakeable sound of a single, restrained sob—and Hamilton saw red.

_He was going to **kill**_ —

“Alexander?”

Hamilton took a deep, ragged breath. _Calm down_. He flexed his hands to work off the tension. _Fuck, I’m so angry_. _I’m so fucking angry_. He spoke, as flatly as he could manage, “Yes, Aaron?”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _What_?” Hamilton drew back, flabbergasted, his anger vanishing. “What do _you_ have to be sorry for?”

And Hamilton’s bewilderment was enough to extract a small smile from Burr—but only for a second before it was gone again. He looked down at his arms, stinging from wounds hidden under the bandages. The ink was wiped away, but it was as if he could still read the words there. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m—I’m sorry for hurting you—when you were calming me down. I’m sorry you had to see this side of me.”

Hamilton was placing kisses on his face before he could finish. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said as he kissed Burr’s temple. “I’m so glad I was here for you,” he said as he kissed Burr’s nose. He met Burr’s eyes—the guy was flushed—as he said, “I want to see every side of you.”

And Hamilton leaned in and kissed Burr’s lips—long, slow, loving.

When he withdrew, Burr looked up at him and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *places hand over heart* Agh, my babies.  
> Thank you all so much for reading and for the comments and kudos.  
> You guys keep me going. <3


	16. Chapter 16

They had the whole weekend to themselves.

Laurens had helped them get another set of takeout without being asked to—knocked softly on the door and left when both of them were still asleep. _Just in case_ , his text had said when Hamilton checked his phone. _Take care of yourselves_.

Hamilton sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens, followed by a request to have Burr meet someone in his class who could be similar, too.

They spent the entire Saturday on the bed, eating, talking, reading, listening to each other’s hearts. They played with each other’s toes under the covers, and Hamilton pulled Burr in by his nape as he kissed him.

“I don’t ever want to get up,” Hamilton murmured into Burr’s neck.

Burr chuckled. He laced their fingers. Kissed the back of Hamilton’s hands. “We can’t keep troubling that poor boy.”

“John? He doesn’t mind.”

“ _Alexander_.”

Hamilton buried deeper into Burr. “Fine,” he mumbled, pouting, and Burr laughed.

Hamilton had changed the bandages on Burr’s arms. Kissed the ones that he knew must’ve hurt. Burr watched him, eyes soft, as he quietly let Hamilton take care of him—physically, emotionally.

Hamilton was doing a very good job.

Burr kissed him every chance he got, just to show how grateful he was. They didn’t talk much about Burr’s groupmates and the incident with the professor, which Burr was also thankful for. He didn’t want to think about it. He was so tired of thinking about it. There was nothing he could do anyway. His groupmates didn’t have any proof, so the professor had no punishment to inflict.

Besides, of course, a failing grade.

Burr didn’t tell Hamilton, but the day he’d had his breakdown was the day his group dissertation was due. It wasn’t like he hadn’t finished it—he _did_ , all on his own. But he wasn’t just going to hand it in like an idiot and let the others reap the harvest he’d toiled so destructively by himself. And they were _Law students_ , for crying out loud. He would be as guilty as the perpetrators if he’d just sat back and let them go on doing what they were doing. It was Burr this time around, but what of the next person who had the devil’s bad luck to be grouped with them? And the next? Shall they go on feasting on the banquet they didn’t earn for the entirety of four years?

No, no way. Burr had seen how determined Hamilton was at putting his life back together again, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to mend the pieces in his own life, too.

So he’d gone and consulted the professor—

And came back to his groupmates finding out about it and demanding him to _hand over the work or else_ and going to the professor themselves to spurt out baseless allegations when he didn’t budge in the hopes of—what? Getting Burr expelled? Hah! If they were casting Burr into hell, then he was going to pull them down with him.

The due date came and gone, and Burr was to receive his first failing grade in his very first semester of university. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to talk about it. And he didn’t want to deal with it until it was absolutely necessary.

For now, presently, he was in bed with Hamilton— _in bed with Hamilton_.

Wow. When had that become his ultimate source of happiness?

Hamilton was reading out loud but softly, their voices never needing to be raised in their closeness. “... _We could have been sitting at our ease tonight_ ,” he read, the book perched against the headboard as he lay on his stomach, “ _and the subject of our talk might have been archaeology, botany, anthropology, physics, the nature of the atom, mathematics, astronomy, relativity, geography_.”

Burr closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, listening to Hamilton read like listening to music sing, his compelling voice rendering all thoughts speechless.

“ _We might have been exploring or writing; mooning about the venerable places of the earth; sitting contemplative on the steps of the Parthenon_ ,” Hamilton enunciated, his diction clear and unerring, smooth and reverent, _“or going at ten to an office and coming home comfortably at half-past four to write a little poetry_.”

Burr was so comfortable and patient that the prolonged silence took some time to be noticed by him.

Hamilton was gazing at Burr’s arm closest to him, his eyes downcast. He traced a finger over the bandages that covered the vanished ink and blood, tingling Burr’s skin in little shocks of warm electricity.

“Do you remember my poem to you?” Hamilton asked quietly.

Burr’s heart pounded—with tenderness, with sadness. When he answered, it was a trembling whisper. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Hamilton said. He met Burr’s eyes and smiled his beautiful smile, and Burr felt suddenly close to tears. The day he forgets Hamilton’s poem would be the day the world ceased to exist. “Just checking.”

He went back to reading, and Burr was left feeling—impossibly, unbearably—deeper in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Ham’s reading is _A Room of One’s Own_ by Virginia Woolf (a book I myself am currently reading and am SHOOKETH that the quote fits so well).  
>  Also, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (translation: I love my babies so much help).  
> Thank you for reading! <3


	17. Chapter 17

On Sunday, Hamilton texted to Laurens: _We’re good to get food on our own now. Thanks for all your help, John. I really appreciate it. (Burr says thank you, too.)_

They still spent most of the day indoors, though, going out only for their meals. Hamilton didn’t ask whether Burr wanted to get a new phone, and Burr didn’t ask whether he was keeping Hamilton from his studies. They both could see in each other’s eyes how those things weren’t top in their list of priorities.

The days were getting colder as autumn gradually made way to winter, so they snuggled into bed and kissed and Burr listened as Hamilton read from Woolf’s book: _There between the curtains was the October night, calm and lovely, with a star or two caught in the yellowing trees_...

On Monday, Hamilton stirred awake the same time Burr did, warm between his healing arms.

“Hey,” Burr murmured, kissing the top of Hamilton’s head.

Hamilton smiled. “Hi.” It was still early—soft dawn sunlight filtering in from the windows. Hamilton closed his eyes again as Burr played with his hair, at peace, at the peak of contentment. He declared again, and his voice was a happy sigh, “I don’t ever want to get up.”

Burr laughed lightly. Placed another kiss on his head. A beat passed. Burr said, “Then you won’t like what I have to say.”

Hamilton sluggishly blinked awake. “What is it?”

Burr hummed, as if still trying to decide whether he meant his next words. “I think I’m ready to go to class today.”

Hamilton searched his brain (he had Burr’s schedule memorised). His first class was at 10 o’clock, and it was one of the class periods with the professor-groupmates trouble. Hamilton found Burr’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Are you sure?”

Burr’s eyes changed from dread to determination. “Yes. I can’t keep running away,” he said firmly.

Hamilton kissed Burr’s knuckles. “I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

Hamilton shut him up with a kiss—a good, long, passionate kiss. He grinned as Burr blinked at him, flustered. “I’m walking you to class and it’s no use arguing.”

Burr recognised the words—of course he did, they were _his_ —and Hamilton swore he never saw Burr blush so much.

Hamilton kissed him again just for good measure, that amazing ( _adorable_ ) guy.

They took their time slothfully rising from the bed and getting ready. Burr was humming a song as he changed. Hamilton tilted his head and listened. He couldn’t identify the tune—a ballad?—but it didn’t matter. Burr could have been singing the Pen Pineapple song and it would have been beautiful.

Wait. Hamilton took a moment to imagine that—Burr singing...

_I have a pen. I have an apple. UH! Apple-pen!_

Hamilton burst out laughing.

“Wha—What is it?” Burr asked, dumbfounded, his shirt halfway on.

“Nothing,” Hamilton snorted. He clasped his mouth—laughed harder. Oh, gosh. Burr’s shirt was _yellow_.

Hamilton fell off his chair laughing.

“What? What is it?” Burr was grinning now.

“Can you wear a different shirt?” Hamilton managed out between wheezes.

Burr stared down at his shirt in bafflement. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

 _PINEAPPLE-PEN_. Hamilton rolled on the floor guffawing. He was on his back, wiping away tears of mirth when he felt a shift in the air, and suddenly Burr was on top of him.

“You don’t like my shirt?” Burr asked, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Want to help me change?”

“Stop,” Hamilton laughed, pushing him off.

Burr’s smirk grew. He sat back on his heels and in one fluid motion took off his shirt.

Hamilton sobered instantly.

Burr’s smirk was smug and playful. “How ‘bout now?”

 _Fuck_.

_Oh. Fuck._

Burr eased back over Hamilton. Hamilton gulped, noticing how the room had become ten times warmer in a heartbeat. They’d slept together— _literally_ just fallen asleep together—in the same bed and kissed a lot in the past few days—but never _shirtless_. Hamilton’s eyes roamed down Burr’s collarbone, his chest, his toned abs, the frame of his pelvis pointing downward...

_Oh. My. Flying. Fuck._

Burr was still smirking when he kissed Hamilton—and Hamilton was gone. He moaned and melted into Burr’s body like it had been sculpted to fit him. Burr pushed a hand into Hamilton’s shirt and opened his lips with his tongue. Hamilton wrapped his arms around Burr’s neck and deepened their kiss. The heat off Burr's skin was scorching. He could feel Burr _everywhere_. Burr adjusted his weight over Hamilton, moving to straddle him now, his hips pressing into him, and Hamilton never felt hotter or more desperate.

So it was a surprise when Hamilton was the one who pulled back.

“Your class—” he panted, still half dazed.

Burr blinked heavily, as dazed as him— _fuck_ , really?

“Your class,” Hamilton repeated more fiercely, untying his arms though all his body wanted to do was pull Burr back in and never let go. “That starts in half an hour?”

Burr licked and bit his lips (was he doing it on purpose?!). “Right. Yeah. Class. Okay.”

He pushed off from the floor and Hamilton could breathe again. Although it had been partly a joke, Burr changed into a different shirt—dark green with silver lines. He grabbed his bag and took Hamilton’s hand, kissing it.

“We’ll continue _that_ later.” He winked, and Hamilton snorted and blushed at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA this one was fun to write!  
> The shirts are totally (kinda) not Hogwarts related (maybe), believe me (sorta).  
> Also, I just found the most absolutely perfect-est song for this fic: Imagine Dragons - Next To Me ([listen here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-C_rvt0SwLE)), which is the song Burr was humming. Listen to it, please? (And if I haz the skillz to make a vid based on my fic, you bet your sweet ass I would use that song—but I don’t. *creys*)  
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are so, SO appreciated. <3  
> (And, YES, I know they never truly got to bang. HAHA. I set up the situations and let you have your imagination run wild, my friend. *winks*)


	18. Chapter 18

Burr rolled his eyes when they arrived at his class, Hamilton glaring at every person who passed by.

“Your eyeballs are going to pop right out if you keep doing that,” Burr warned, only half joking.

“Doing what?” Hamilton asked, innocence in his tone but murder in his eyes.

Burr knew exactly what he was doing: trying to figure out who Burr’s (“ _selfish_ , _disgusting_ —”) groupmates were. But Burr wasn’t going to let that information slip.

He squeezed Hamilton’s hand when the (“ _stupid_ , _total_ _blind ass_ —”) professor walked in. “See you back in the room.”

“No.” Hamilton shook his head. His glare was gone and he gave Burr a big grin. “I’ll be right here. I’ll walk around for a bit, but I’ll be back. I’ll be right here for you, okay?”

Burr couldn’t believe the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. “Okay,” he said, trying not to squeak.

He entered the class and avoided every pair of eyes that turned towards him—especially the ones he knew were glaring the deadliest at him. The professor didn’t comment on his absences during the previous week. In fact, the professor was as fervently ignoring Burr as Burr was ignoring his classmates. _Lost trust_ , Burr thought, a pang to his heart. That gurgle of _anger_ and _resentment_ and _injustice_ threatened to resurface—

But Burr breathed. Right in the middle of his classroom, amidst hate and tension, the punctures under the bandages on his arms prickling, Burr breathed—he breathed, and he thought of Hamilton.

 _Alexander_.

 _I love you_ , the lavender boy had said. _To the moon and back and back again_. _As the plants love the sun, the rain, the bees who visit them. Like the waves love the wind in a calm sea as well as in a hurricane._

And right in the middle of his classroom, Burr chanted Hamilton’s words in his head, over and over and over.

_I love you, Aaron Burr. Like the moon. Like the plants. Like the waves and the wind. I love everything that you will be, everything that you had been, and everything that you are. This is my poem to you._

When the professor dismissed the class and all around him clanged the noise of students scurrying to leave, Burr looked down at his notebook and found that he had drawn the shape of a full moon, the shape of a lavender plant, and the shape of a cresting wave tossed in the wind.

Burr looked down and saw that his notebook was splattered with his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one but *slams hand on table* FUCK WAS IT BEAUTIFUL.  
> I am allowed to be impressed at my own writing because I don’t plan a lot I just let it flow and it surprises me as much as it surprises you thank you very much yes goodbye have a nice week bless you.  
> On a serious note, though: Fuck me and my heart and my emotions, I can’t.  
> Thank you so much for reading! <3


	19. Chapter 19

Burr was the very last one to leave the classroom (and absolutely _not_ because he was wiping his tears away and composing himself before meeting back up with Hamilton, no way).

But when he exited, he stared around in quiet wonder.

The hallway was deserted, and Hamilton was nowhere in sight.

The sound of his heart breaking was almost audible—but he told himself to _calm the fuck down_. Hamilton had said that he would be walking around a bit. _Chill the fuck up_. He’ll be here soon. _Shut up_. If he said he’ll be here, then he’ll be here—let heaven and hell themselves stand in the way and see what fucking good they could do against Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr’s fucking reunion.

When Burr heard the unmistakeable sound of Hamilton’s shoes thudding hurriedly around a corner, he moved towards the sound on impulse, ready to jump into the boy’s arms in relief. His walk quickly became a jog and his jog became a run. Halfway through running, though, he realised what he was doing and stumbled to a stop, flushing furiously.

But Hamilton had rounded the corner and had seen what he was about to do. He grinned hugely and ran at Burr—and it was like a fucking slow-mo movie scene. Hamilton ran right into Burr’s arms and the momentum spun them into a twirl— _two_ twirls— _three_ twirls—

They crashed in a dizzy heap onto the floor and Hamilton kissed him—

Hamilton kissed him, and Burr thought, _What have I ever done to deserve this much good_?

Before long, Hamilton was giggling too much for them to go on making out (right _there_ on the hallowed hallway of a university—blasphemous!). Burr was grinning like an idiot as he steadied both of them into standing.

“Hey,” he said stupidly, holding Hamilton’s hands.

Hamilton giggled. “Hi.” _Fuck, he was adorable_. “Sorry I’m late.”

Burr wanted to kiss him again, but they were both still so fucking ditsy. Was his class really just two hours? How the heck were they so happy to see each other after only two hours of separation? It was ridiculous. It was amazing.

“Lunch?” Burr suggested.

Hamilton smiled up at him, and in his smile were all the smiles of youth and purity combined. Burr was going to melt into a literal puddle if he didn’t stop that. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Burr repeated stupidly.

Hamilton giggled. “Okay.”

_Fuck_.

Burr pulled Hamilton into another kiss— _hallowed halls be damned_ —and thought that maybe—just maybe—his heart was ready to transcend its state of being a stone, into a state of being—well, _liquid_.

Liquid heart, open arms—

Jumping into Hamilton and knowing he would catch him—

Three twirls—for his—

Body—

Mind—

And soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are dorks.  
> I love them.  
> Thanks for reading! <3


	20. Chapter 20

They spent far too long lingering in the hallway outside of Burr’s classroom just kissing, and they would have stayed there for hours in contentment if voices and the sound of footsteps hadn’t finally broken them apart—panting and grinning. They were just exiting the building to get lunch when a voice called out gruffly.

“Mr Burr, can I have a word with you in my office?”

Burr turned and was surprised ( _absolutely_ _floored_ ) to see his professor— _the_ asshole professor—at the mouth of the entrance he’d just walked out of.

“Um,” Burr stalled. _You ignore me for two hours and now you want to talk to me privately_? _Really_? “Yes, sir.” The professor stomped back inside and Burr turned to Hamilton. “Sorry—”

Hamilton kissed him ( _out in the open_!). “It’s okay. Go ahead. I’ll wait for you.” He gave Burr a gentle nudge towards the building, and Burr smiled giddily and followed his professor into his office.

He spent half an hour listening to everything the professor had to say.

When he left the office, he was speechless.

Hamilton was leaning on the wall some ways off the office door. He looked up and gave Burr a curious tilt of the head. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t want anything.” Burr was in shock, still not quite believing what he’d heard. “He—He gave me an extension.”

Hamilton straightened. “To your group assignment?”

“Yeah, um—” Burr swallowed thickly. “It’s not—It’s not a group assignment anymore.”

Hamilton took his hands and Burr immediately felt a wash of gratefulness for the tether back to sanity. “What do you mean?” Hamilton asked, biting his lip.

“I—um—” Burr’s tongue was slack, his mind was buzzing. Everything seemed too good to be true. Here he was, Hamilton in front of him, patient, caring, beautiful—and an overdue group project that had suddenly become an extended individual project—which meant that he _wasn’t_ going to fail, he _wasn’t_ going to have to repeat the class, he _wasn’t_ going to disappoint his foster parents—and everything seemed far too good to be true.

“I don’t understand why he would do that for me,” Burr mumbled, half to himself.

Then he looked up at just the right moment and saw it.

Hamilton’s smirk.

“No,” Burr breathed. “No way.”

Hamilton bit his lip again, but it wasn’t from worry—he was trying not to smile!

“What was that?” Burr asked dumbly, his mind too slow to fit the pieces in. “What did you do?”

Hamilton shrugged, and now his grin was full-blown and shameless. “I went to see the dean.”

Burr’s heart hiccupped. “You _what_?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Hamilton said.

“ _Alexander_ ,” Burr said, squeezing his hands.

So Hamilton confessed. During Burr’s two-hour class, he’d visited Dean Washington’s office. He hadn’t made an appointment— _no time_!—just barged in, ready to fight for his right to have an audience with the head of the faculty—when the secretary saw him and positively _thrilled_. Hamilton was on a comfy sofa with offers of biscuits and fruit juice within a blink, and he knew he was going to win. He shook hands with the dean and, well, had a _cordial conversation of peaceful blackmail._

“You _blackmailed_ the _dean_?”

Hamilton shrugged again, but he wasn’t trying hard to restrain his grin. “I mean, I’m not _really_ going to drop out and enrol in the rival university. Not my fault they fell for it...” He went on to describe how he listed his terms— _listed_ his _terms_!

 _One_ , at all times from now on, never believe any accusation made against one Aaron Burr. Alexander Hamilton would trust that man with his life, and likewise should the faculty.

 _Two_ , at any given time, whenever possible and whenever desirable, Aaron Burr is to be allowed to complete all group assignments throughout his period of study individually, unless he voluntarily chooses to do otherwise.

 _Three_ , all professors under the Faculty of Law are to heighten both their moral and common sense, and treat the issue of freeloaders as seriously as they do plagiarism.

When Hamilton finished his narrative, Burr stared at him, his jaw open.

Uncertainly, Hamilton’s grin melted away. “I—I didn’t cross a line, did I?” he asked softly, and Burr couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the Hamilton who was bold, rebellious and self-assertive, with the Hamilton four months ago who had been frail, timid and self-destructive.

“Alexander,” Burr murmured, and he felt like crying. He was feeling much too much, much too full. He squeezed Hamilton’s hands and hoped the touch would convey more than words did the sheer immensity of how proud and grateful he was of him. “Thank you.”

Hamilton’s eyes lifted and shone like the moon— _I love you to the moon and back and back again_.

Gently, Burr cupped Hamilton’s cheek. With his other hand, he intertwined their fingers, the spaces fitting perfectly as if they were always meant to fit together. Burr gazed into the moony eyes of the lavender boy, feeling sea-tossed, feeling windswept, and said as clearly as he felt it, “I love you, Alexander Hamilton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW. FUCKING FINALLY, RIGHT?  
> Disclaimer:  
> One, I am sure that is not how lawyers make their terms.  
> Two, I am certain universities are not as flexible to the wants of a single student, stellar though they may be.  
> Three, I have completely lost track of the timeline of this fic, so Hammy and Burry could have been roommates for three, four or five months and none of us will be any the wiser.  
> That’s all.  
> (But, also, the parallelisms are from chapter six, if you wanted to find it to compare! We’ve come a long way, huh? We’re nearing the end now.)  
> Now and forever, thank you for reading, my loves. <3


	21. Chapter 21

They went back to the room after lunch, after dinner, and was it just Burr, or was everything a hundred times more beautiful than they had been earlier in the day?

Something had changed. When Burr kissed Hamilton’s hands, it was as similar, as ardent as all of his previous kisses to his hands. But, _there_. That softness in the boy’s eyes. That _certainty_. Undeniable, unrestrained. Hamilton had said _I love you_ to Burr in his time and Burr had finally said _I love you_ in _his_.

And now the lavender boy was _his_ lavender boy.

They kissed, and Burr felt the change deep and keen. Hamilton wasn’t rushing anymore—no, he had stopped rushing earlier—the instant the words were formed by his lips, that moment a week ago when he’d murmured it against Burr’s bleeding skin. That meant Burr was the one who had been running. Running—yet, no. He hadn’t been running, either. But while Hamilton had moved past the race, Burr had still been in it. He was in the race but not running. He was in the race but as still as stone, his heart cold, a self-made barrier around his feet.

But now—

But _now_.

They kissed, and everything was electricity—but not lightning but a _current_. A steady, inextinguishable, constant flow of current. From their lips to the tips of their fingers, to the pads of their toes, into their veins, around and through their hearts and back up to their lips and interchanged and shared and beating in time, in tune, in sync—the same, the one—that unfailing current flowed.

They kissed, and the thought of hurting himself seemed ludicrous to Burr.

They kissed, and the thought of starving himself seemed ludicrous to Hamilton.

They kissed, and Burr would say to Hamilton, _I love you, Alexander Hamilton. I love you as the ink loves the writer and the writer loves the ink. I love you in my highest of moments to my lowest of moments. I love you like sunlight through drawn curtains and moonlight through open windows._

They kissed, and Burr would hold Hamilton’s hand and speak the truth that poured out of his now liquid heart _. I love everything that you say, everything that you do, and everything that you think. This is my poem to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams in love*  
> Just two more chapters and this fic will officially be completed and idk whether I can survive that. (The next chap’s one of my favourites and proudest of works.)  
> I say this a lot but I can’t say it enough: Thank you for reading. <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I'm far from good, it's true_  
>  _But still I find you_  
>  _Next to me_  
> 
> 
> _So thank you for taking a chance on me_  
>  _I know it isn't easy_  
>  _But I hope to be worth it_  
> 
> 
> **[Imagine Dragons — Next To Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-C_rvt0SwLE)**

Time passed in the way a play did. The stage was set and the orchestra was playing and the actors were costumed and performing, and Hamilton and Burr were in their seats, their hands interlaced on the armrest between them as they leaned back to enjoy the show.

Sometimes someone interrupted them to ask to check their tickets. Sometimes an infant in the back row would suddenly wail and distract them momentarily from the performance before being shushed. Sometimes a latecomer would say _excuse me_ and pass by in front of them to get to their seat, blocking out the view for a while.

But always they had their hands laced together—comfortable, perfect—as they sat and watched the show unfold, spending each moment patiently and contently, their hearts beating as one.

Burr completed his first year of university with flying colours. His every assignment and test and exam achieved the highest grade in his classes—a product of his own brilliance and the extra guidance from Hamilton during their shared study sessions (an arrangement which furthermore resulted in Burr knowing and mastering the second-year syllabus before the new term even began). By the end of his first term, people were labelling him “the next Alexander Hamilton”.

Hamilton himself similarly retained his 4.0 average. Besides, he went ahead and joined the drama club, something he’d always wanted to do but never found the time or the motivation to before. Many people were shocked at this, but Burr laughed happily and said, “ _I knew God didn’t give you that powerful voice for nothing_.” In his second term of university, Hamilton was crowned Best Actor.

In Burr’s second term, he joined the music club—a move that also shocked many people except Hamilton, who said, “ _I knew God didn’t give you that beautiful voice for nothing_.” He put his poetry-writing to use and spun melodies to accompany them and was composing songs as effortlessly as if he had been meant to do it all his life. Together with Hamilton, they planned and managed a partnership between their two clubs, and by the end of Burr’s second, Hamilton’s third, they were taking bows in front of standing ovations to the success of a Broadway-inspired musical.

In Hamilton’s fourth and final year of university, both of them took a step back from the limelight and their social lives, and spent every day learning a new thing about each other.

 _I once had a teddy bear named Marmalade_ , said Hamilton one day.

 _I used to want to be a veterinarian_ , said Burr the next.

And they told each other stories from their lives, catching up with each other’s pasts as they lived their presents together.

As Hamilton’s graduation neared, they began to catch up with each other’s futures.

“I’m thinking about getting a place near the campus,” Hamilton confided now, tracing a slow circle on Burr’s chest. They were laying on their sides in bed, spending a lazy weekend indoors.

“Hmm,” Burr hummed, smiling, his fingers drumming lightly on Hamilton’s waist. “You wouldn’t be doing that to stay close to a particular someone now, would you?”

“Don’t be silly,” Hamilton replied, rolling his eyes. “You’ll be moving out of the dorms and living with me there, of course.”

Burr laughed, joy and love bubbling in his chest. “Of course.”

The promise lay between them, beating with hope.

Hamilton traced the shape of a heart over Burr’s chest. “They asked me to come back after, for a Master’s and a position as the dean’s research assistant.”

“You’re going to be Washington’s assistant?” Burr could feel pride and satisfaction lighting up his face.

“I think he wants to train me to be the next-in-line,” Hamilton laughed, and Burr knew he was only partly joking.

“That’s great,” Burr sighed. He kissed Hamilton’s forehead. “I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Hamilton buried his face in Burr’s chest, and Burr spotted his reddened ears of delight. Burr laughed lightly and hugged him closer.

They lay in peaceful quiet for a while, Burr playing with Hamilton’s hair as Hamilton listened to Burr softly humming a tune he was in the middle of composing. Time and the world flowed by them.

When a bird outside their window perched nearby and began to sing, Burr revealed his new thing of the day:

“I once envisioned a future where we got our own place.” Hamilton drew back to meet his eyes and Burr smiled at him. “Didn’t think it would come so soon.”

“You,” and Hamilton’s voice was a whisper, “imagined us living together?”

Burr nodded, his smile growing. “In a house with a garden. And a library. And a studio. The bedroom would be angled just right, so that one side of the room will be bathed in the light of sunrise, and the other side in the light of sunset, every day. Also, we had a dog.”

“A dog?” Hamilton laughed, but his eyes were prickling.

Burr grinned. “A dog named Rusty.”

“Rusty!” Hamilton was laughing hard now.

“He’s there to help keep us from living fully sedentary lives. We both know how hard you always push yourself to work.”

Hamilton snorted. “Speak for yourself, Mr I-Once-Composed-Fourteen-Songs-In-A-Week.”

“Hey, I had been _inspired_.”

“They were all almost identical!”

“Yes, because they were all about _you_.”

And Burr dipped his head to kiss Hamilton but he laughed and pushed him off lightly and Burr grinned and rolled them until he was on top of him, chests pressed together, and Hamilton looked up at him with love and happiness and unshed tears in his eyes—

 _Then_ they kissed.

And neither one would’ve traded it for anything else.

Burr rested an elbow on the bed to hold off his weight, and now he was the one who was tracing hearts onto Hamilton’s chest.

Hamilton’s hand was on the nape of Burr’s neck, stroking his thumb across his skin, that familiar expression of thoughtfulness on his face. “Do you want to get a dog?” he asked softly. Pets weren’t allowed in the dorms, but next year when they got their own place, they could do anything. “He’ll be lonely, though, when you’re at class and I’m at Washington’s.”

Burr hummed, the corner of his mouth upturning. “In the future I envisioned, we got another pet to address that exact issue.”

“We had _two_ dogs?”

“Don’t be silly,” Burr said, teasingly rolling his eyes as Hamilton had done. “We got a _cat_. We named her Marmalade the Second.”

“Oh!”

“We also got a tortoise named Tootles.”

“Tootles!” Hamilton laughed.

“Don’t look at me. In the future I envisioned, you were the one giving the names,” Burr teased.

“Is that so?” Hamilton purred, running his fingers down Burr’s back.

Hamilton’s smile slowly melted away and Burr could feel a shift in the air. Suddenly his heart was pounding as he watched Hamilton bite his lip and waited to hear him voice out his thoughts.

“Tell me,” Hamilton murmured, looking into Burr’s eyes, his voice a flutter of wings. “In this future you envisioned... with us living together in this house with the garden... Were we, perhaps... married?” The final word was like a wind that seamen hope would catch in their sails.

Burr sucked in a deep breath. Studied Hamilton’s face—his glistening eyes, his kiss-swollen lips. “In the future I envisioned,” he said finally, hoarse but with truth on his tongue, “yes. Yes, we were.”

Hamilton blinked twice, his breathing shallow. His voice was a dove, his eyes were sunlight. “Do you want to marry me, Aaron?”

Burr swallowed thickly. Here was the boy who had turned his life around for the better. A boy who told and showed him that _he_ had turned _his_ life around for the better, too. For the past three years they had gone through each other’s ups and downs—watching the play of life unfold and laughing together at the comedy and comforting each other at the tragedy. He was the one Burr could kiss a million times and still feel excitement and love and innocence and desire—and would want another million kisses by the end of it.

So Burr sighed a sigh from his liquid heart, and confessed in a whisper nothing but honesty, “Yes, I do.”

“I want to marry you, too,” Hamilton breathed, and it was like a declaration that they’d been preparing to publicise for years upon years finally coming out into the light.

Burr took Hamilton hands, both of them trembling. “Then—are we—can I—can I call you my fiancé?”

Hamilton squeezed their hands, steadying them both. “Yes,” he sighed, a confirmation.

And Burr kissed him. He kissed him, and time and the world and the play of life continued past them, swirling by them as they existed as one untouchable entity—the moon, the plants, the waves and the wind—the writer and the ink, the moments, the light—witnessing and standing testament to their promise of love.

When they drew apart from their first kiss as new men, they were smiling into each other’s eyes.

“Did we just get engaged?” Burr asked with a huff of exhilarated laughter.

Hamilton grinned up at his fiancé. “Yes, we did.”

“Okay,” Burr said, certain for once in his life that everything—absolutely everything—was just as it should be. “Just checking.”

Hamilton laughed and pulled Burr back into him, and as the bird outside their window started up a new tune, they shared their second kiss as new men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. OMGOMGOMGOMG. IT’S DONE. IT’S TYPED OUT AND PUBLISHED. THIS SCENE HAS BEEN WITH ME FOR MONTHS YOU GUYS AND I AM SO HAPPY TO FINALLY SHARE IT WITH YOU OMG I CAN’T BREATHE.  
> THANK YOU FOR READING I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS BECAUSE I CANNOT HANDLE HOW DEARLY I HOLD THIS TO MY HEART PLEASE LOVE IT THANK YOU I LOVE YOU AHHHHH.  
> THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE FINAL ONE AND IT’S KINDA LIKE A SHORT EPILOGUE A BIT AFTER THE EVENTS OF THIS CHAP OHMAHGLORB I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO READ IT BLESS YOU ALL GOOD NIGHT HAVE AN AMAZING DAY TILL THEN BYEE.


	23. Epilogue

Hamilton was pacing the room, reading aloud from the script in his hand, his graduation robe fluttering behind him with his movement as he practised different intonations, when Burr walked in.

“Hey,” Hamilton greeted briefly, his attention still on the script.

“Hi.”

Something in Burr’s tone stopped Hamilton in his tracks. He couldn’t place exactly what was off, of course. They were so attuned with each other now that it was as deep-rooted and beautifully inexplicable as instinct.

“What is it?” he asked, the script forgotten as his heart rate increased.

A grin, slow like the blooming of a rose, spread across Burr’s face. “I got you something.” From behind his back he produced a small bag. And from that, he pulled out a palm-sized box. Just the right size.

Hamilton dropped his script. “Is that—”

“Sorry it took so long,” Burr apologised shyly. He had to call in a favour from a cousin to make the custom-made rings. And the cousin had been so adamant to ensure they were absolutely perfect (with a matching custom-made box) that it took even longer.

“Aaron,” Hamilton said, and he was bouncing on his feet, his robe like wings. “ _Aaron_.”

Burr laughed. Grinning, he went down on one knee. Opened the box and revealed the identical engagement bands. His eyes were sparkling, his heart was soaring. He looked up at a gaping Hamilton and his voice was a drum beating with the sound of life. “Alexander Hamilton, my love, my light, my comfort, will you marry me?”

“ARE YOU KIDDING YES OF COUSE OH MY GOSH.”

And Burr laughed again as he slipped one of the rings onto Hamilton’s finger—a perfect fit.

Hamilton squealed and hugged him so hard they fell onto the floor. Burr couldn’t stop laughing as Hamilton kissed him all over his face, _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

“Okay—my turn! My turn!” Hamilton gushed as he snatched the box eagerly. They rose, and Hamilton dropped to his knee so fast and hard the very floor shook.

“Aaron Burr, my love, my li—wait, you said that. Aw. You always say the best things!”

Burr grinned. He smoothed a hand in Hamilton’s hair lovingly, and his voice was as melodious as if he were singing one of his songs. “I’ll listen to every word you say, Alexander, even if I’ve heard it countless of times before.”

Hamilton gazed up at the man and sobered. _I love you. I love you so much_. His heart was a drum, his life was complete. “Aaron Burr,” he started again, and this time his voice was steady. “You found me when I was stumbling in the dark. You heard me when I was voiceless from screaming too long. You took my hand and pulled me back when I was at the edge of the cliff, ready to fall.” Hamilton squeezed Burr’s hand as his eyes welled up. “My saviour, my solace, will you marry me?”

Tears ran down Burr’s face. He looked upon the man that encompassed everything good that had happened to him—everything good that he had been fighting to believe in all his life, and said, “I will.”

Hamilton slipped the ring onto Burr’s finger, and kissed his hand, his wrist, the scar of a healed puncture on his forearm. Burr bent down onto his knees and rested his forehead against Hamilton’s, and together, rings glittering on their fingers, they closed their eyes and existed—

Merely existed, for that was enough.

It was the final month of Hamilton’s last semester, and Burr was thankful neither one of them had given up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRY FOR ETERNITY.  
> I added a brief(?) [little addition to this story in the comments](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/179731257)—A list of things that happen after this epilogue. (An epilogue to the epilogue?)  
> The journey of writing and posting this story has been phenomenal and irreplaceable.  
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much for reading. <3


End file.
